


He Who Carves the Stars

by glorious_abyss



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Tragedy, Arranged Marriage, Family Drama, Nature symbolism, POV Multiple, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Tragedy, i can't add more tags until I post more chapters, there's lietbel in this but it's not the central focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_abyss/pseuds/glorious_abyss
Summary: King Ivan is dying. Knowing his days are numbered, he halves his kingdom and gives his two sisters, Katyusha and Natalya, a portion of land. In return, he forces them to marry foreign rulers; Katyusha marries Sadiq, an older, seasoned warrior from the south, and Natalya unhappily marries Magnus, a rambunctious Viking ruler from the west. Natalya, disgusted by her ‘barbarian’ spouse, devises a plan with her sister to murder their husbands, but not without help from Ivan’s devoted knight, Tolys.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is a medieval au. It takes place in a vague, alternate version of world history with references to Vikings and Byzantium. The cast list for chapter one is as follows:
> 
> King Ivan: Russia  
> Lady Katyusha: Ukraine  
> Lady Natalya: Belarus  
> Sir Tolys: Lithuania  
> Eduard: Estonia  
> Raivis/Fool: Latvia  
> Lord Magnus: Denmark  
> Lord Sadiq: Turkey

The man’s hacking rang with the church bells.

His knees gave out from the ferocious cough attack that fell upon him. Arms interlocked, his best man dragged his feet across the palace hall and up the stairs. Ivan was much taller than his servant, as well as more rotund. His bed creaked when they found his way onto it, and it was there where he called for his two sisters. The women spent some time watching the dense forest from his tower window while he spoke. Mountains tore through the sky. His chest pains were nothing new. It wasn’t until he pronounced their names when the two turned their attention to their brother.

“Katyusha, Natalya, I am dying.”

Each sister held onto one of his weak hands. 

“Little Brother, you should get some sleep.”

“Big Brother, you tell us that twice a week.”

He sighed, which resulted in another cough.

Ivan groaned as he cautiously sat forward. Wet blood glistened on his lower lip. He called for one of his men to bring him the tattered map that lay nestled in his desk. Once in his grip, he shook his sisters off and unraveled the rolled up paper and set it down on his lap. His watery eyes followed the edges of his land.

“My kingdom is dying,” he croaked. “I am twenty-one and unmarried. My sisters will be lost after I am placed in our family crypt. Our summer songs will quiet in the fall and drown with the winter wind.”

Katyusha, the elder, held back a choked sob. Natalya, the younger, furrowed her brows at the other’s reaction. Her brother’s poeticism only added to his perfection. Ivan looked up at the weeping woman and held his palm out to her.

“I didn't mean to scare you. Come forth, my dear sister, and speak.”

“Little Brother. Though our mother is deceased, I raised you as my own child. You are my sibling and my kin. It truly pains me to hear you say these things. Your cough has been present for two moons, but you are still standing among us! Maybe it is my motherly instinct, but I still cannot help but worry. But, I am sure the priest can help you in some way…!”

It seemed that speaking had calmed her woes. Though her face glowed a bright pink, a shy grin smile onto her lips. The king was ready to respond to her when another voice outmatched him. 

“Big Brother. You are to me as you are to my sister, but she could never say that she loves you more than I do.” Natalya’s breath hitched. “We would be absolutely helpless without you! The only man to take care of us with our dear, strong, brother gone would be... _him_.”

She rolled her eyes in the direction of his best man. Tolys, his personal soldier, stood straight by his door-frame. His greasy, chestnut hair hung in his curious eyes. He kept his gaze towards the stone floor, but cautiously looked up when he heard her voice.

The young lady appeared to be floating as she walked towards him. Her lavender dress covered every inch of her body, minus her neckline. A foot shorter than him, she pursed her lips and squinted. Her delicate fingers made a sawing motion towards his chest. Tolys inhaled sharply, and his armor began to clang as he shook.

“I thought I had finally become deaf to your quaking. It turns out you weren’t doing it at all.”

She returned to her spot beside her brother. Ivan let a coy smirk dance on his lips. 

“You are a good man, are you not, Tolys?” 

“Y-yes, my lord! I am very good! I am honored to serve you, even beyond your numbered days!”

“You will always be my closest friend!” The king’s face brightened, but the illuminating glow from his pale skin remained. He motioned for the knight to meet him at his side, and when he did as he was told, Ivan’s sickly grip weighed on his shoulder. 

“I am sure my friend Tolys would do an exceptionable job maintaining your safety. However, I am not dealing that hand to him.”

Natalya covered her mouth as a devilish giggle erupted from it. Katyusha and the knight both stuttered. 

“Little Brother, who, other than him?”

A trumpet echoed in the distance. The three standing figures moved their positions to the window that faced the entrance to the kingdom. Erupting from the outstretched hills came a horde of marching shadows. As the crowd grew, the hefty swagger of men holding banners came into view. 

“Tolys. Prepare me for our guests.” 

* * *

It was the first night of festivities since the king fell ill. 

The longhall flourished with bobbing, shaggy heads. A choir along one of the walls ricocheted through the seated crowd of hungry guests, who all laughed amongst each other while scarfing the meals set in front of them. Some strangers wore scruffy beards and bulky, out-of-season furskins over their bodies, while the men on the other side of the room were broad and tan. Natalya couldn’t recall ever seeing her brother’s hall so lively. If it weren’t for the vile disgust that overcame her from watching the savages below their long table, she figured she would have enjoyed the break from the family’s sudden gloominess. However, it felt impossible for her to remove her eyes from the mystery men. Her brother hadn’t mentioned inviting neighboring kingdoms to their own, nor was it normal for him to keep such a secret. 

Hurriedly, she tugged a serving man’s fabric and pulled him to her seated level. The poor man stumbled and came close to shattering his porcelain water jug. The lady couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge his whimpering; he was a barn-dwelling servant with foggy eyes; the scent of fresh hay gave it away.

“Eduard,” she hissed, pulling him even closer to her body until their foreheads grazed each other. “What is going on? Who are these people?” 

Natalya swiveled her head to check on her siblings, who continued a merry conversation with each other to her left. The slave, now named Eduard, squinted into the crowd.

He chewed his lip. “My lady, surely you must remember-”

“I do not.” 

She felt him jump in his baggy clothes. Water splashed from the jug and sprinkled his tunic.

“My lady, these are allies of your brother.” He rose a shaking finger and gestured to their left. “That man in the middle there, that is Lord Sadiq. He comes from a warm, dry kingdom in the south.”

Sadiq could have passed for an ancient god. The sun-kissed skin on his forearms was formed quite nicely, and it distracted from the mess of choppy dark hair on his head. A crafted half-moon mask shielded his eyes. Natalya’s brows rose, and as if it were intuition, the slave described the deep, long scar that ran across the top half of his face.

“A failed assassination attempt. He cannot open one of his eyes, so he covers both of them.”

“I would take death over disfigurement,” she muttered.

Eduard then, like a dowsing rod, swayed his finger to the right side of the hall. “The man closer to the front, yes-I think that is him! He is Lord Magnus, from the west. They are sea dwellers from the cold mountains. Northmen, I believe they’re called.”

This ruler, in comparison to Sadiq, was gruff. He wore his attractive qualities in a different way. His dirty blond locks that didn't get caught in the slicked back segments stuck out at odd angles. His smirk was devilish, and his sea green eyes were emphasised by the charcoal that lined his eyelids. The men at his table fashioned themselves similarly, though they lacked his monstrous fur cloak. Natalya thought Magnus’ attire made him look like an ugly, filthy wolf that needed to meet a bow and arrow. 

As she stared at the shuffling figure in front of her, Magnus turned in her direction and their eyes locked. He gave a quick wink before playfully shoving the man next to him and continuing his meal. Natalya growled and tightened her grip on Eduard.

“I remember now,” she said stoically. “Those strange men to the left live holy lives, while those on the right know too many gods. Devotion to one god is hard enough, but many calls for more ignored prayers.”

The servant nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes, I believe you are correct. Both parties have come from very different worlds compared to ours.” 

Natalya dug her nails into his arm. She could feel the frantic quivering of his muscles as she held him still. “How do you know so much about them?”

“Sister.” 

Ivan's strained voice broke through her sudden irritation. “Please let go of our servant. He is too useful to lose.”

Natalya leaned into the serving man’s ear and whispered, “ I hope the boars consume you while you sleep,” before pushing him away from her presence. He rushed to the other end of the table where Katyusha happily lifted her empty chalice for him to fill.

Ivan held Natalya’s elbow with grace, which caused a light pink to paint her cheeks.

“You haven’t touched your food. Eat, enjoy yourself.” He gestured to her cold plate.

“My stomach is in knots. I’m unsure of these guests.”

“Maybe a song or two will ease your worrying.” With that, Ivan rose to his feet and clapped his hands. The crowd’s chatter died down as he gained their attention.

“Fool,” he called with glee. “Some entertainment, please!”

The sisters gave each other a worried look . From under a table came a short figure adorned in a motley suit. His honey curls bounced as he crawled to his knees, then to his feet. His face was boyish, but his stumble was that of a drunken man. He stood in front of the king and mindlessly strummed the lyre in his hands.

“Is it time for my fill, my lord?” the boy asked. The tight line of Ivan’s lips twitched. Through his inebriated stupor, the teenager’s eyes widened from the response. 

“That is right, fools only eat what they cannot see,” he muttered with a forced laugh. The chuckle rang through the silent hall. 

“This is Raivis,” the king bellowed with a cheeky grin. “He is funny, sometimes. If you are not satisfied with his performance, I will have my men remove his hands. No pressure, Raivis.” 

The named fool visibly jumped. Katyusha gave him an encouraging smile, while Natalya leaned on her elbows and watched him closely. He plucked a few strings of his instrument. Ivan seated himself and copied his younger sister’s posture.

Raivis bowed slightly, then turned to face the crowded room. “I have a song for our king, Lord Ivan.” 

“It is he who sets free

The world in his hands.

The horses do rain

When he says that they can.

If night is a cloak, then he has it adorned.

The stars, they are seen only when it is torn.

The moon shall fall while the sky has it hung.

For nothing can grow in a lad made of dung-!”

The king slammed his fist down on the wooden table. Waves of laughter that had just begun to fill the room died down, and Ivan stoically stared into the crowd.

“I apologize. It seems that my fool has had too much to drink tonight.” 

Raivis’ boyish giggling stopped abruptly. He stood as still as a statue, the instrument at his side. The king pushed his chair back and stood once more, which forced the marble fool to come to his senses and rush down the long-hall until he was out the doors. He couldn’t do this without tripping on his own intoxicated feet, however, and the Northmen who tried to grab at him as he ran didn’t help. To the sisters’ surprise, their brother remained standing as the eyes in the crowd turned to watch his next move. 

“I believe it is time to proceed with your reason for coming to my land.” He gestured to Sadiq and Magnus with outstretched arms. His limbs beckoned like puppet strings, and the two dukes left their seats to meet him in front of the table. Natalya couldn’t help but acknowledge the drastic differences between the men. Sadiq’s cheeks hid laugh lines under his black stubble. His skin folded when he bit his lower lip, and she guessed that he was much older than her brother. Magnus’ eyes sparkled. The sea-green irises ebbed with each movement they made, and revealed a streak of something she could only place as determination. It sickened her. 

Silently, the two women stood to take part in his mystery. Though there was much she cursed her God for, her brother’s inclusive nature regarding his sisters was not part of it. Natalya’s stomach ate at itself; she still had not touched her meal, and the anticipation of the unknown event that was about to unfold left a pit within her. Ivan refused to give hints at what this ‘reason’ was, nor did he make it known that they were expecting guests in their land. Still, she followed her siblings and the men through a distant hallway and into a secluded room of the castle, away from intruding ears. The musical chattering in the hall was muffled.

Once inside the windowless room, the king retrieved a map from a desk drawer. His shaking fingers unraveled the sheet, and he laid it flat onto the table in the middle of the space. Anxiety and intrigue filled the air as the group hovered around it. Ivan rushed to cover his mouth with his arm as a cough erupted from him, but he missed and splattered blood droplets on his drawn kingdom. 

“I would like to thank the two of you for coming here,” he said through a choked voice. “As you can see, I am not in the best of suits. My childhood illness is contaminating me to its fullest extent these days.” 

Sadiq was the first to move. He pulled the king’s large hand into his own rough one and lightly kissed his knuckles. “We are here to help you, my lord.”

“Indeed you are,” he replied with a chuckle. His fingers hung in the air for a moment before dancing on the map. He traced the bottom half of his kingdom, trailing blood as he did so. After Ivan mindlessly painted the terrain, he looked back up at the tanned duke.

“This will be yours,” he stated. Then, he shifted his gaze to the other man. “The upper half is for you. I know you can handle our cold. Him, not so much.”

Natalya’s breath hitched. She exchanged a glance with Katyusha, whose expression mirrored her own concern. The words rushed from her throat before she could stop them. Hurriedly, the woman wrapped her arms around her brother’s forearm.

“Big Brother, why are you giving our land away?”

He gave her a cheerful grin. “Because I am dying?”

“You are _not_ dying! Please, Big Brother! I think you may need to rest-”

“Do not tell me what it is that I need.” 

His sharp command cut through her. Her embarrassment didn’t have time to overcome her, however, because it was soon replaced with a new feeling. It was one she had never experienced in her nineteen years of life. The only times she was witness to it were when it was inflicted upon neighboring communities or unlawful citizens. Only fairytale princesses experienced this rush of adrenaline.

“Sadiq,” he continued, as if he was not previously interrupted. “I will have you know your payment is accepted. My dear sister Katyusha will make an excellent wife for you.”

It was fear. That was what created the foreign, sinking feeling in her heart. 

“And Magnus, I hope Natalya’s hot blood does not turn you away from her.” 

Natalya caught herself staring at her feet. She couldn’t bring her mind forward to respond to her name. Instead, she kept her dress clenched in her shaking fists. Her body heated with, what was it? Anger, fear, betrayal, even? Her sister’s choked sobs were the only sound she could process. It suffocated her, and she felt the invisible noose around her neck tighten with each silent minute that passed.

Ivan wrapped his arms around his sisters’ shoulders and pulled them into a hug. Being in his embrace did not do much to comfort Natalya’s rage, as it usually did. Instead, the sudden pull convinced her tears to fall and land on his chest.

His fingers wove through their hair. “Do not be upset, sisters. You should be grateful that you will not be left alone after I pass.”

The younger sister wrestled out of his arm. She backed herself into a wall, her eyes red and deranged. “I will _not_ marry a barbarian! You cannot make us wives!”

Ivan did not turn to face her. Instead, he remained in his held position, Katyusha crying into his neck. He posed like a heroic statue, the slain beast still dangling from his grip. 

“You will do as I say if you want to live,” he said coolly. “The wedding is tomorrow.” 

Natalya’s fiery gaze only burned herself. 

The king’s stoicism dropped when he looked over to the other men. A wide grin pushed his round cheeks. He chuckled softly. With his full attention directed to Magnus and Sadig, his chapped lips parted to speak.

“There is an expression I came across once in my readings. Would you like to hear it? A wise man once wrote these words; ‘ _Be careful of the heavens up above. A woman scorned will talk to them with love_ ’. It is interesting, don't you think?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters that appear in Chapter 2:
> 
> Aurel: APH Moldova  
> Unnamed man: APH Romania  
> Father Feliks: APH Poland  
> ~~~  
> The greatest poison comes from anger.

Natalya could not remember the wedding. In fact, she refused to.

The event was hardly visible through her watery eyes. Her memory was so foggy that she thought she had died during her dreaded day, but she was brought back to Earth when her new husband held her hands and slid the silver ring onto her fourth finger. It was cold and heavy, and it was in that moment when she understood what the ancients meant when they said marriage was imprisoning. 

Her brother kissed her forehead before she took her place in front of the priest. It was a gesture he did for her only a handful of times, but his lips felt sinister. They were toxic and cursed, and his poison flowed through her body upon contact.

“You are the only man I will ever love,” she whispered sternly.

“If you love me, you will go through with the marriage,” was his reply. He forced her by the shoulders to turn around and march up the steps of the stage, her pride trailing behind her. Katyusha sniffled at her side in front of her own beaming groom.

She did not truly become alive again until she was brought into the bedroom she now shared with Magnus. When the man twisted the doorknob and pushed the wooden door out of their path, she became too aware of her impending doom. They stood across from each other, before the bed. Though Natalya was living her worst nightmare, she was thankful for her brother’s decision to allow their consummation to happen without his presence. 

She didn’t dare look at Magnus, and instead kept her eyes to the floor. Minutes passed, and neither of them moved. He had to be mocking her. If she looked up, he was going to be staring daggers into her. Curiosity soon got the best of her, and she braced herself for defense for when she lifted her gaze.

Magnus’ eyes were on the wall beside them. With her sudden movement, he focused on the young woman in front of him. He blinked, cocked his head, and then in an instant, grabbed her wrists and kissed her. She bit the sour tongue that lodged itself between her lips. He yelped in protest as she gripped his own wrists and headbutted him. The man tripped over his steps and landed backwards onto the bed, where Natalya straddled him and lunged at his throat. Her petite fingers were of no use, however, because he was able to pry them away from his body without a struggle.

“I thought you would have liked your men warm,” he panted, heat rising to his cheeks.

“I like it best when they have their lips sewn shut,” she growled back. Tears welled in her glassy eyes when he erupted in a hoarse laughter. With a surprising gentleness, he pushed her off of his hips and made himself comfortable on the bed.

“I think it is best if we go to sleep. I am too tired for marriage rights tonight.”

She whipped her fist into his firm stomach, eliciting a groan from him. 

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Because I paid to marry you?”

Another dead punch. “What are you going to do with my brother?”

“Why do you assume I will hurt Lord Ivan?” he asked as he pulled himself to his side to face her. “I would never lay a hand on my brother-in-law.”

“You are barbaric,” Natalya spat. She scraped a fingernail along his hand, stopping at a knuckle. His finger held a ring, which had an unfamiliar, looping design clinging to its surface. “What even  _ is  _ this? Why is your jewelry so ugly?”

Magnus crossed his arms under his head. “My ring has links on it to remind me that the gods will always be by my side. They help me fight and kill,” he said casually.

She yanked her hovering hand away with such speed that it was possible to think he was on fire. 

The duke closed his eyes and hummed. “I figured you wouldn’t want a ring like mine. The one on your finger is from your brother.”

Silence followed. Natalya twisted the cursed silver under her knuckle. Upon removal, she found her brother’s initials inscribed in the band. Tears began to form in her eyes, and she turned away from her husband to wipe them.

Magnus’ playful voice interrupted her crying. “That fool you have is funny-”

“No he is not!” she exclaimed. “He is an abomination to mankind, and the worst my brother has ever had! His mother was probably cursed when he was conceived.” 

Magnus let his fingers run through his sticky hair. “Worst? What happened to the other fools?”

“They had their hands cut off,” her flat voice stated. 

Another silence followed. Magnus’ face was painted with a dumbfounded look that made Natalya want to punch him again. When she was younger, she would run to either of her siblings’ rooms and let them hold her until her nerves subsided so she could sleep. Tonight was different. She was no longer a little girl, her brother made that clear. She was a lady. If she wanted to keep her castle locked in the mountains of her kingdom, then she had to be her own nighttime hug. 

She stuck her tongue out in thought. Magnus’ eyes had fluttered shut, his arms across his chest. Natalya pondered the difficulty of draping her legs over his waist and strangling him, but knew she was too weak to even form her fingers around his neck. Besides, if she was going to murder him, she didn’t want to give him a death he would potentially enjoy.

The ring returned to its new home on her finger. Her lips formed an equally curved, sinister, smile.

* * *

When she awoke, the side that Magnus slept in was distressed and empty.

Natalya released a relaxed sigh as she lay under her blanket. Perhaps her arranged marriage was an awful dream, and she could continue living a pleasant life with her brother and sister. Maybe Ivan’s illness was part of her imagination as well, and when she joined her family in the downstairs hall she would eat breakfast without having to hear him melodically hack into his utensils. Still, she remained in bed for a moment to confirm her hopeful suspicion, only to be greeted by Magnus’ fur cloak stalking her from a chair in a corner of the room. Her pillow covered her muffled screams. When her tantrum subsided, she threw the heavy fur onto the floor and stomped on it.

She found her sister in the courtyard garden. The woman’s braided, dirty blonde hair was recognizable from Natalya’s bedroom window, and she rushed down the staircases of the castle to meet her. Katyusha fiddled with a chain of looped flowers as she strolled through a row of hedges; they were the same hedges that Natalya used to hide behind as a child, their main purpose being to scare her sensitive sister when she rounded the bushy corner. 

Her sister held a curvaceous figure. Katyusha’s cheeks were full, and rosy against her fair skin. Natalya, in comparison was slender and petite. Her hooded eyes gave her an intimidating beauty. Her cornsilk hair was long enough to blow out of her face when it became undone. Needless to say, they hardly looked like sisters.

Katyusha wasn’t phased by the other’s attempt at scaring her. In fact, the glowing aura that normally adorned her wasn’t present. She gave her sister a shy smile before greeting her. Her eyes screamed with panic. 

Natalya picked at the dirt under her nails. “You’re skipping breakfast too, I see?”

“I have been praying for Ivan’s health. I fear God may have other plans.”

“Maybe your prayers are making it worse.” Natalya teased, much to her sister’s annoyance. 

“Do not say that! When was the last time  _ you  _ bent your knees to pray?”

“Last night, actually.” The younger sister leaned in to the other’s ear. “Right in front of my new husband. Prayers taste worse when they are forced into you.”

Katyusha released a disgusted groan, while Natalya cackled. “I am kidding, Kat. I am not letting that man take my virginity.”

The elder moaned once more. “Who raised you?” She brought Natalya in for a hug. As she held the limp woman in her arms, she added, “Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time watching the men out here, you would have a kinder mouth.”

She wasn’t completely wrong. Natalya spent much of her free time observing the servants from their garden gazebo. Her favorite days were the ones where her brother’s soldiers trained in the courtyard. The men would knock each other to the ground and reemerge on their feet with trails of blood running down their faces. She was trained in formal dancing, but it was not her favorite style. Her preferred form of dancing was the one that involved receiving splinters from wooden practice swords, but that was a tune that only men could partake in. 

As if on cue, an aggravated shout came from the fenced-in arena. The two women twisted their necks to find a tunic-clad Tolys hovering over a fallen soldier. He stuck his hand out to help the other get back to his feet, his other hand gripping a worn-down, wooden sword. Natalya’s eyes were fixated on the odd angle that the unnamed man’s wrist created, and the shy coos that escaped his mouth when he tried moving the joint. 

“Sister,” she began, her eyes not leaving the violent scene in front of them. “Did you consummate your marriage?”

Katyusha remained still.

“Kat-”

“Hmm?” The elder hummed, a coy grin forming on her lips.

“You  _ did _ , didn’t you?” Natalya grabbed her sister by her dress sleeves, making the other gasp. “You let that man fuck you?”

“Hush!” Kat tried pulling away from the woman and her rising voice, but the other was stronger than anticipated. Her face grew red as a tear trickled from her right eye. She pulled her sister close to her large breasts once more for another hug.

“I didn’t want to do it,” she moaned into Natalya’s hair. “I am not ready to be a wife! I love children, but I cannot be a mother right now. I would much rather be a nun locked away in a convent for the rest of my earthly years!”

“That makes two of us,” Natalya mumbled sarcastically. Part of her wished she had the ability to bow down to a heavenly being. She declared herself too mundane to believe in God; the myriad of flowers that overtook the courtyard, the way her brother smiled, the victorious shouting that followed the kingdom’s win against invaders, none of it showed itself to be spectacular in her eyes. There were things that happened, and things that appeared in certain ways, but she couldn’t bring herself to find God’s touch in them. The holy teachers told her life was unique, but she could easily find things to improve.

“What if we will kill them?”

“W-what?”

“We will murder our husbands!” Natalya rushed to cover her mouth upon realizing her own volume. “Our problems will be solved!” 

“B-but the kingdom! Ivan-”

“We will rule together. A king is not a king without his queen, so how powerful is a kingdom with two queens? When Ivan passes, everything will stay in our name! None of it will go to those fuck heads-”

“Get those evil thoughts out of you head this instant,” Katyusha hissed. Her anger showed itself in rare occasions, though something about her naturally shy demeanor being turned on its head made her sister giddy.

“More like, ‘Get those evil men out of our beds!’” Natalya knew if she touched her face it would be warm. Excitement fueled her like a dry fire. She could see it mirrored in her sister’s growing pupils.

“Think about it, Sister. Our husbands will be gone, and if Ivan passes, we will have total reign over the country. You can live in a nunnery if you’d like; you can even be the first deflowered nun!”

Katyusha gasped with disgust. She retracted herself away, and turned to walk in the opposite direction. Her sister, however, made her stop in her tracks. 

“What did he do to you, Kat? Hmm?” She held her hands behind her back as she circled the elder. “Did he strip you of your clothing? Did he caress you in places you do not even touch yourself? Tell me about the sounds you made to please him, to-”

“Fine!” An invisible space had formed between the two women. In a shaky whisper, she said, “I will join you.” 

Natalya had been called a bitch enough times to evolve a sixth scent for smelling secrets. Humans were not what interested her. At times, she found herself daydreaming of the life that came with being a prized hunting hound. 

The younger sister grabbed the other once more. She squeezed her sweaty hands and gave each knuckle a kiss. 

“Good.”

“But! I do not want to  _ do  _ it. I...I do not know how to kill!” Kat finished with a barely audible whisper. Glistening tears rolled down her full cheeks.

“I will take care of everything. Go, go.” Natalya shoved the other away from her. “Pretend you know nothing.”

The elder made the sign of the cross over her body, then did as she was told and scurried away from her sister. Nat felt her lips curl into a smirk. She loved Katyusha, but she loved her submissive nature a tad bit more. When she turned the corner, Natalya waited a moment before turning back to the courtyard.

“Hey, Tolys! You dog shit eating dick! Get your ass over here!”

She watched as the knight shrunk. The few men around him cackled at her calling. Tolys threw his weapon to the ground and shamefully walked over to the woman. The closer he grew, the less she wanted him in her sight. His hair shone with oil in the summer sun, and beads of sweat clung to his exposed skin. Still, she focused on her spontaneous plan, and tried to set his qualities aside. 

“I’m a married woman now,” she said when he approached the gate that separated them.

“So I’ve heard, and hello to you, too.”

“I don’t want to be one.”

“That’s most unfortunate.” The end of his statement sounded more like a question than it did as a blunt response. 

His attitude annoyed her. She knew that he knew better than to mock her, but his inability to understand her bothered her even more. The rare, passing breeze that swept her ashen hair did nothing to cool her.

“Enough of this horse shit.” Her fists clenched. Before she could rethink her options, she blurted out, “I know you’re a virgin. If you kill Magnus and Sadiq, I’ll sleep with you.”

Tolys’ eyes widened. “You’ll  _ what _ ?!”

“Fuck you, have sex with you, lay on my back-”

“Natalya, I...you know my virtues. I’m not going to needlessly kill someone because you don’t like them.”

Those damned virtues. Honesty, justice, and nobility, amongst others on the list, had tied the poor man into being the quaking knight he was. Tolys, as serious as he was, took them to heart. Corruption didn’t flow through his veins, and for some reason, it angered her. 

“Besides, I’m saving it. You know, for marriage, if that happens one day…” Seemingly lost in thought, Tolys’ eyes rolled and he cocked his head to the side.

Still, she reached out to gently grab his hands that had been resting on the fence.

“I’ll be your wife.”

A light pink dusted his already red cheeks. “But you just said you don’t want to be married!”

“Use your head and look at the man I’m married to. He’s not one of us! Don’t tell me you don’t hate them. You’ve been fighting them for what, half a year? He’s some pagan from across the ocean, and he  _ paid  _ to marry me.”

Natalya had to swallow the bile rising in her throat. She squeezed the palm of his hands, and gave him one of her courtly smiles. In the kindest, most soothing voice she could muster, she said,

“If you say yes, I will know your intentions and admiration for me are true. I don’t want to have to order you to go through with this.”

Tolys lowered his eyes to their embraced hands. To her satisfaction, he gave hers an assuring squeeze. Then, he slid out of her grip, bent down to one knee, and kissed her knuckles through the fence.

“Anything for you, my lady.”

* * *

The priest lived on the outskirts of the kingdom. It took Tolys half of an hour to reach him on horseback, but the tranquility of the pathway that lead to the holy cell never failed to cleanse him of his woes. As soon as the city was behind him, the rustling fields and harmonizing birds accompanied his journey. At one point, he looked forward to visiting the friar and having the man ease his constant worrying with prayer. When the king fell ill, his trips were shrouded with dread.

As a devoted soldier to the king, he was used to the lower class citizens in the community hiding from him. It was a common occurrence; the clashing of his chainmail tolled through the dirt-coated streets, and akin to a gush of wind, the citizens would rush through their errands and slam their doors behind them. Tolys grew to accept his lonely fate. He loved the people who resided in the kingdom, despite not knowing their names. The bloody cross that adorned his tunic held his stigma.

This time, however, his daydreaming was interrupted. 

His horse gently trotted down the worn path that lead out of the city. It tripped occasionally when its hooved trampled over sprouting weeds, though Tolys adjusted himself to the bumpy ride. With every whinny that erupted from the animal, he would lean close to its midnight mane and whisper encouraging words. Then, they would continue down the road and the knight would watch the shredded clouds that hung over the city until the cycle needed repeating. Tolys couldn’t prepare himself for the sudden halting of his horse, however, and the jolt almost threw him over its head. 

Standing in front of his horse’s path was a child. The boy’s hair was matted, and his bangs were tied into two pigtails. His tunic was crusty. Without realizing that he was moving, Tolys dismounted the animal and squatted in front of the stranger, who thrust a freshly plucked flower into his chest. 

“This is for you, sir,” the boy said. Tolys twirled the stem between his fingers.

“Why, thank you.” He scanned the dirt road around them, and found the only other sign of life to come from overhead birds. The silence of the distant city was deafening.

“Are you a knight?” The child’s squeaky voice made Tolys melt.

“Yes!”

“My brother says knights are enemies to the people!”

Tolys opened his mouth, then closed it. He furrowed his brow as he thought of a response.

“You should not be outside on your own,” he said sternly. “Where are your parents? I can take you to them-”

“Aurel!” A masculine voice, followed by the crunching of twigs, caught the attention of both visitors. The man who approached them was shorter than the knight, as well as a close replica of the child between them. He yanked the boy from the ground and held him close to his chest as Tolys rose to his feet.

“What did I tell you about leaving the house?” The man scolded into the shaggy head of hair. For a still moment, it felt as if time froze. The city streets were barren, and not even a gust of wind blew through the two men. Tolys found himself releasing the breath he was unknowingly holding, which ceased the earth’s chilling pause.

The stranger glared up at him. 

“Thank you for finding him,” he muttered. He started to turn back, but the knight placed a gentle hand on his shoulder before he could continue. Tolys felt the tension in his muscles.

“Who  _ are  _ you?” he asked curiously. The peasant slowly twisted his head to meet him, fear growing in his widening pupils.

“None of your concern,” the man breathed. He yanked himself from the other’s hold and ran in the direction he came from. Tolys’ palm remained in the air until it naturally drifted back to his side. The sight of the man and child diminished until they turned into a shadow, and then into nothing. He sighed and readied himself to mount his horse, but then he became aware of the flower in his other hand. He looped the stem through itself and attached it to a clump of his hair before jumping onto the animal and continuing his journey.

* * *

The priest met him outside. He was fond of horses, and Tolys sometimes wondered if he preferred them over humans. They could only enter the chapel after he blessed the animal, which is something he did upon their departure as well. When the two men moved through the tall doors and into the other’s cramped house, Tolys was attacked by the warm scent of basil. He took his usual place at the wooden table in the middle of the room. The priest shuffled through a wicker cabinet before seating himself across from the knight. 

“Father Felix.”

“My child.”

Felix squinted at the man. Then, his eyes popped open.

“Lily of the Valley,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Tolys quirked a brow, and then remembered the flower in his hair. He reached up to grab it, but was interrupted by the priest slapping his hand away. Felix threw himself onto the table and made his way towards the other’s head. Tolys felt the patch of hair as it was tugged roughly, and soon after he spotted the stem and petals being thrown behind the holy man.

“What was  _ that  _ for?” the knight asked with frustration as he held his head.

Felix sat back down. “That was Lily of the Valley! Those are very dangerous, Tolys! Where the hell did you find that?”

“It was a present from a child?” 

On most days, the blond of Felix’s bobbed haircut reminded the knight of a halo. It hung at the sides of his face, and the sun bounced on each light strand to give his cheeks a heavenly glow. This time, however, the stained glass window looking down on the two men painted him a sickly purple and blue. 

Felix shook his head and let out a shy laugh. “The heavenly father is watching us, Tolys.”

“Please do not scare me like that!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in defense. This only made the friar’s laugh more prominent. As he cackled, Felix retrieved an item from a pocket of his robe and placed its contents in the middle of the table. His bony fingers unraveled one by one to reveal a glass vial. A cork lid covered its contents at the mouth.

Tolys grabbed the bottle and quickly pulled it towards himself. He moved to shove it in his purse, but stopped when he remembered his new intentions.

“I need more.”

“Hmm?”

“I need more,” he repeated, his voice cracking. “Please.” 

Feliks smirked as he leaned forward. He rested his chin in his hands. “Oh? You never stock up. Are you being sent off?”

“No, it is for something else.”

“It is not safe to keep poison around a castle-”

“It is not for me, Father.” Tolys sighed and placed the delicate vial on the table. He held his head in his hands for a moment, then regained his posture. 

“Natalya wants me to kill her and her sister’s new husbands,” he hissed. The holy relics littering the room seemed to be glowing with anticipation. His heart pounded in his ears. “She said she would marry me if I helped her.”

Felix crossed his arms and sank into his chair. “And you believe her?”

Tolys’ mouth refused to open.

“Who are you when stripped of your armor, Tolys? You need to guard your heart. It beats you the same way those royals do.”

“Wise words, coming from God’s honored speaker-”

“I’m not telling you this as a priest. I am your friend, as well as a citizen of this kingdom, and I would like justice.” 

Felix rose from his chair and glided towards the colored window. His face was now a sickly, emerald green. “A woman came to me last night. Her daughter had just passed from hunger pains.  _ Hunger _ , Tolys. Why is Ivan not feeding his people?” 

“Perhaps it is God’s will-”

“This is not God’s will.”

Toly’s brows lifted from his friend’s sudden boldness.“I...do not question his mind. His thoughts are all his own.”

“It is a wonder we have allies, Tolys. He throws you into so many senseless battles. I don’t know how you’re still alive.”

The friar glanced over his shoulder. A playful smile lined his pink lips. “I think he wants you dead.”

“I vowed to protect the kingdom. That means everyone within our borders.” Tolys unclenched his strained jaw. He couldn’t recall when his sudden tension began to build.

“He has never fought a day in his life, all because of that damned cough of his. Think about it; if you had a doll, and you slammed it against other dolls and tore it’s limbs off, would you feel it? Though, I guess it  _ is  _ only natural for a sick man to crave blood...”

Tolys breathed out of his nose. His friendship with the priest was complicated. Feliks grew out of his persistent shyness the more time they spent together, though Tolys couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly a good thing. Once reserved and passive, the holy man now freely told the knight anything that was on his mind. 

When the silence began to ring, Feliks spoke again. 

“How are you going to do this?”

Somehow, Tolys got himself tangled in the holy man’s strings. 

“I may have to kill Ivan faster than I initially anticipated. He refuses to be looked after by a doctor-especially you! He does not trust you, unfortunately, and he has accepted his fate at this point. No one will suspect it. Oh gosh, am I babbling?!” 

“He has to know he is being poisoned,” Feliks admitted. “Tell me, what are his symptoms?”

“Coughing is...a big one. There’s usually blood in his handkerchief. He sometimes vomits after eating, that is if his appetite is present. He tires easily, and he has lost weight. I think he has delusions, too.”

“Oh Tolys, his delusions are nothing new.” 

Tolys snorted.

“Yours aren’t new, either. Natalya, marrying  _ you _ ?”

“What’s wrong with  _ me _ ?”

The priest looked him up and down. His long, slender fingers gracefully covered his mouth to hide his growing smile. 

“You were raised alongside her. She probably sees you as an ugly brother from her father’s mistress. Didn’t you tell me that she broke your fingers when you were children?”

“She’s changed! Sure her tongue is sharp, and her temperament is very hot, but she can be a pleasant lady.”

Feliks walked back to his cabinet. He began to hum a tune as he shuffled through various sizes of jars. They clinked together, making Tolys jump.

“What is it you  _ really  _ want?” he asked, still skimming through his collection of pharmaceuticals. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” the knight whispered loud enough for the other to hear. He feared that, if he were any louder, the whole room would turn its attention to him. 

“I want this constant fighting to end. Our soldiers should be allowed to relax without worrying when Ivan is going to become bored and send us out to our deaths!”

“Mmm? What else?”

“What else?” the knight repeated to himself. He blinked from his own genuine confusion. “Is there anything else to say?”

The friar turned dramatically to face Tolys, a smirk growing on his features. Between his fingers were two, thumb-sized vials of a dark liquid. He held them up next to his shiny head.

“There has to be a reason why I give these to you. Why do the southerner and the Pagan warlord have to die with Ivan?”

“Because...because…” Tolys sighed as he weighed his words carefully. The way he said it wouldn’t matter, he knew that, but he was wary of his sense of shame growing if he spoke the wrong words. If he was being honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn’t think farther than marrying Natalya. Now that Feliks mentioned it, the opportunities for a new direction passed through his mind. 

“With Ivan, Magnus, and Sadiq gone, I can marry Natalya and rule the kingdom in a way that isn’t so harsh.”

“There you go!” The friar slid the two bottles across the table. They lightly bounced against Tolys’ chest. The declaration came out naturally for the knight, though even he caught on to how smooth it was to say. It was as if a spirit had possessed his form and pried his jaw open to speak; it terrified him. 

He knew there was no use in dwelling on his words; his full, honest truth was uttered in front of God, His relics, and Satan, and all he could do now was pray.

* * *

The sun fell from the sky as the knight was returning to the castle grounds. Tolys' nervous stomach fought itself as he climbed the castle stairs to his bedroom. Once his fumbling fingers locked the door, he collapsed onto the cool stone at his feet. The knight, succumbing to his anxiety, forced himself to crawl on his hands and knees to the gap between the ground and his bed. He used what remained of his health to drag a bronze box into view. 

Once his shaking hands could flip the center padlock open, Tolys pulled the three vials of poison from his purse and laid them on either side of a drained bottle. He lifted the preexisting glass and held it in front of his vision.

' _Oh Feliks_ ,' Tolys thought to himself as he stirred the remaining liquid. ' _You are a man of many roles_.'

Carefully, he closed the box and slid it back under the bed, and out of his sight. With the bottle in his hand, he found his way to his feet to give Ivan his evening wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm so glad you've been enjoying this fic so far. I'm super excited to continue writing/posting chapters, and I'm especially interested in seeing how you react to this chapter, as well as the next few that are coming up. As I said in one comment, it only gets wilder from here.
> 
> Have a nice day :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters that appear in Chapter 3:
> 
> Bj⌀rn: Sweden  
> Timo: Finland  
> Sigurd: Norway  
> Eirik: Iceland

“Bring him forward.”

Glistening rays of sun illuminated the sleek, black hair of the prisoner. He knelt in front of the shaded steps leading up to the royal seats, though it was his unique appearance that captivated Magnus. Not once in his years of traveling across the sea had he ever seen a man with such bushy eyebrows. 

The sun shone through the looming stained glass windows. Heat in a plentiful of colors beat down on the back of Magnus’ neck. 

“Sir Li,” Ivan stated.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Are you aware of your charge?”

The prisoner chewed at his lower lip. Magnus had to mimic this behavior to prevent himself from laughing at the caterpillar-like movements of the man’s furrowed brows.

“Yes, my lord. But-”

“Stealing is a punishable offense in this kingdom, Sir Li. Dealing unapproved goods is not welcome on our land, either. Somehow you have succeeded in achieving the titles of both thief and dealer.”

“It was just a purse! You’re acting like I tried selling him a relic!”

One month had passed since the wedding. For the duke, however, it was one month too long. The castle walls suffocated him. Stone pillars and spiral staircases were not what he was accustomed to, and he found himself homesick for the pastures and livestock from which he came. Gold and silver decorated his new home, but even the riches he once yearned for couldn’t remedy his ache. He was expected to attend Christian church services, where the language barrier left him guessing when to drink his chalice of wine. He wore tight boots that left blisters on his toes, and long coats that hid his inner Northman. 

Magnus could not become accustomed to his new wife, either. She made her suspicion of him obvious, and he was beginning to feel the same towards her. He was raised from a young age to fight and to look death in the eye, but he lacked the training needed to battle a neurotic woman who slept with knives under her pillow. 

And on top of these new adjustments, he had Ivan to worry about. They hadn’t known each other for long, only several months. Magnus was bloodthirsty and lustful when he first stepped foot on the king’s soil, and if it wasn’t for the wanderer he stumbled upon during a distant ransacking, he doubted he would be sitting in the royal court. The wanderer spoke both of their languages, and successfully illustrated a kinder picture of Magnus than what he actually appeared to be. Tales of Magnus, Prince of Denmark, had traveled far and wide to reach the ears of Ivan’s royal court; Ivan had to have been well aware of the trail of blood following the other, but still he chose to open his doors to him. 

Ivan was only yearning for a faithful friend; that was what his translator had told him. Friendship, however, was expensive; Magnus thought he made the right choice in buying the king’s sister as a bride, but the more time he spent on land, the more he lusted for the salty spray from crashing waves to douse him. 

The king turned to face the man at his right. “Lord Sadiq, what punishment do criminals receive in your land?” 

“My lord, we hack their faces apart with blades.” The king groaned as he stretched his arms behind his head.

Sadiq was a confusing man. Magnus was aware of the other’s lifelong friendship and allegiance to Ivan’s family. Perhaps it was his age, but Magnus didn’t understand how the ruler could remain calm when discussing his plans. Just days before, the two had briefly come together to settle borders and options for peace, but Sadiq was much too passive for his taste. ‘Do whatever you want, just stay away from my border,’ he had said, before sighing the way aging warriors did.

“And you, Lord Magnus?”

Magnus snapped out of his daydream when he heard his name. On instinct, he leaned forward on the table until half of his body was dangling from it. Laying there, he stared into the prisoner.

“Sir Li, did you wrongfully trick the man in question?”

He thought he heard Li gasp. The prisoner's expression softened as he sighed. He mumbled something before finally giving a firm, "Yes."

Magnus crawled back into his seat. He was well aware of Ivan and Sadiq eyeing his ostentatious behavior, but he didn’t let it phase him.

"Where I am from, if you confess your crime and show remorse, you will be set free." 

Li's eyes shone. His chest heaved as a relaxed laugh bellowed from his lips.

"You did not let me finish, Sir Li," Magnus continued, the other man freezing in place. "I do not this land just yet. If my two fellow members of the court believe in harming you, then I cannot go against their authority."

From the corner of his eye he saw Ivan's arm lift, followed by him calling for his guards to send the prisoner to the castle cellar. A sudden pain swirled in Magnus’ gut. He looked over to the other two men; Sadiq pouted his lips as he picked at his nails. 

“You’ll run into problems with the east. They call themselves China. I have tried many times to befriend their emperor, but instead he runs from me. Some of his people pass through the border for, eh, _opportunities_ , which I monitor quite a bit. They fashion their own products and try to sell them as our Lord’s relics, authentic ancient goods, such and such.” 

Sadiq sighed. His arm dangled over the short backing of his seat. “It’s a shame. We have a similar problem in my kingdom, too.”

‘ _The Lord sounds quite profitable_ ,’ Magnus thought in the midst of his uncomfortable confusion.

Ivan’s tone lowered to a hush as he leaned in to the two men beside him. “They all try to say they’re the child of the emperor, too. Watch this.”

The prince swept his gaze to the table. From the corner of his eye he saw Ivan's arm lift, followed by him calling for his guards to send the prisoner to the castle cellar. A sudden pain swirled in Magnus’ abdomen. 

Li struggled in the guards’ grip around his arms. 

“No, please!” he gasped. “My father is the emperor!”

Magnus swore he caught a smirk growing on Ivan’s lips.

“I’m sure he is,” he growled. With that, the king motioned his hand towards the door. The fidgeting prisoner, smaller in comparison to the burly, armored guards, kicked his feet in the air as he was carried out of the hall. His screams of agony could be heard even after the iron door was shut. 

“What, not used to this kind of thing?”

Sadiq slammed a mighty fist against Magnus’ shoulder. He gasped, then tried his best to cough out his embarrassment. His stomach churned, and his face felt cool in the stuffy, humid room.

“Death for a fraud, isn’t that a little too harsh?”

“I like to treat my citizens like my friends,” Ivan said as he bit at one of his fingernails. “I like it when my friends get along. You wouldn’t want to be tricked by a friend, would you?”

“No, no.” 

“I thought you Vikings would be all for this kind of punishment,” Sadiq teased. “Come on, Mags, tell me about yourself! I feel like I barely know anything about ya! Expand my horizons, won’t ya?”

The prince cringed at the nickname. “What is it you want to know about me?”

“You’re a prince, aren’t ya?“

“If you’re wondering about my land, I will have you know it is being looked after by my mother.” Magnus’ voice was stern, though he regretted it as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Sadiq pursed his lips, his mask bouncing with his facial movements.

“Hey, why so defensive? I just want to know about your family. But uh, your mother? Where is your father, huh?”

“That’s a good question, Sadiq. I wish I had the answer. My own father was killed when I was a child. He was replaced shortly after, and now I have two half brothers. _Their_ father…”

Magnus paused. His copper hair shook as he chose his words. 

“He left about a year and a half ago. He said he was going into the woods to show he can survive the winter on his own. Now my mother is the queen.” 

“So you’re pretty used to being bossed around by a woman, eh?”

“Aren’t we all?” Ivan’s quiet voice broke through the growing tension. The suddenness of it sent chills down Magnus’ spine. It was too soft, too smooth.

“Boy, I’m surprised _you_ married Nat and you didn’t pawn her off to one of your brothers! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s kind of-”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to meet.”

Agitated, he took the opportunity to excuse himself from the table. Then, he rushed through the castle’s maze of hallways until he was able to find the castle grounds and drown in the fresh air he sought. Blood did not scare him, nor did justice. Men were the same no matter where he set foot, which in turn was both a blessing and a curse. He mentally rued his dedication to assimilate with the other royals.

A voice caught his attention once he met the open air. He followed the source of it until it grew louder, and he was eventually pulled to the barn where the servants resided. Magnus recognized the childish singing voice of the fool that entertained him before the wedding. 

“There’s a storm in the sky, there’s a storm on the boat.

There’s a storm in my heart, and I here barely float.

The wind, it will howl, our bodies will sway.

My sailor swears we will all live one more day.

But his eyes hold the thunder that shocks us to death,

He who holds bag o’ air, and will take my last breath.” 

“Hey, you.” Magnus threw a nearby stone into the barn, right in the fool’s direction. The boy jumped, his premature voice cracking on the last note as he was taken by surprise. The duke took this as a sign to approach him. Manure and hay suffocated the air in the spacious barn, but the scent felt more like home than the castle next to it.

“I am sorry if I scared you,” he began, his boots crunching the hay beneath him. “You have a nice voice.”

“I do _not_! I have the voice of a baby duck, according to Lady Natalya.” Raivis dramatically clasped his hands across his mouth. “I am sorry! I should not speak of your wife in such a way.”

The prince took a few more steps towards the fool until they were inches apart. He ran his calloused fingers through the boy’s honey curls before giving the bouncy hair a pat.

“Well, she is right about something. You look like a duck, too!” Magnus let out a snarky laugh, much to the other’s apparent horror. 

“Make duck noises!”

“W-what?”

“Do it! Do it!”

The fool did as he was told, going as far as squatting down and flapping his arms like the animal. When the last of Magnus’ giggles vanished, he watched how Raivis’ lower lip quivered, and remembered how he entered the barn in the first place.

“What was that song you were singing?”

“I don’t know.”

Magnus quirked a brow. “You don’t know?”

“No, my lord. It hasn’t told me its name.”

Before the elder could come up with a response in his confusion, Raivis spoke again.

“It was just a tune I came up with, my lord,” he replied as he played with his fingers. 

Magnus wrinkled his nose. The barn’s natural aroma danced with the summer heat. “You have never seen the sea before, have you?”

“I seek to see the sea, my lord.” His own pun made the twitching grin wrinkle on his cheeks. “I was born on the coast, but I have not lived near the water for many years.”

“You seem to know a lot about the ocean for someone who hasn’t come close to it.” 

“I only know as much as my body can handle, which is not much. Eduard knows more than I do! Is that not right, Eduard?” 

A rustling followed. The servant appeared from a corner of the barn, his outfit coated in hay and animal hair. As he approached them, Magnus thought of him as a walking tower. The frozen coating over Eduard’s icy eyes shone like iced windows.

“Hmm? Sorry, I was just resting.” Eduard hadn’t seemed to notice the royal at first. He didn’t hide his squinting, which admittedly made Magnus slightly uncomfortable. The useless eyes of his popped open upon realization, however, and the other thought the servant was going to knock him over from excitement. 

“My lord!” Eduard bowed dramatically and reemerged with glowing cheeks. He began to ramble, his shrill voice startling every living creature in the barn.

“It is an honor to be in your acquaintance.”

Magnus could only nod his head. His lips remained firmly pressed.

“I see you quite often! I don’t follow you, if that’s what you’re wondering. I help clean the rooms of the castle, so I’ve stumbled upon you in the halls.”

“Ah, yes. I apologize for my wife’s habit of moving the furniture around. Between the two of us, I think she gets bored too easily.”

“It _does_ make cleaning harder, if I’m honest.”

Magnus mindlessly ran his fingers through Raivis’ hair again. “Your friend here says you know about the sea.”

“Who says I’m his friend?” the fool asked as he shook.

“Yes! I grew up on the shore of the Baltic Sea, the one you came on! We’ve both served the king for about…”

He lifted his hand and pushed a few fingers down.

“Eight years. Raivis and I, we grew up in the same village. Ivan was upset with our duke, so he killed everyone and took some of us children as slaves. It was four years into his reign, and I think he became quite comfortable sitting on his throne by that point.”

Magnus nodded as he calculated the years in his head. A nine year old king, who then became a thirteen year old conqueror? He had to admit that, after the initial suspicion, he was impressed.

“Adolescent anger?” the prince asked with a smirk.

“Bored and blood thirsty, my lord.”

A hush fell over the barn. Even the animals inside had stopped moving. Magnus knew how cows and horses and the like acted when a storm was approaching; they would feverishly prance around and cry until the first drop of rain fell. This silence, however, felt like the calm before a hurricane. 

“I would like to be a warrior.” Eduard’s voice broke through the ominous silence. He grabbed Magnus’ shoulders. “Please. I want to see the ocean.”

Magnus’ tongue rolled around his cheek. “Warriors fight. They have good eyes-”

“My lord, if I cannot fight then I will serve you the way I serve the Braginsky family. I will learn your language.” Eduard leaned into the duke’s ear. Magnus cringed at the hot breath that wheezed from the servant. 

“I know things you may not know,” he murmured. He broke free from his suspicious posture and added, “I cannot fight, but I can solve puzzles very well! I’m sure if you explain the terrain to me, I’ll move through a path with ease.” 

“Don’t listen to him.”

The fool, now seated in a worn stack of hay, narrowed his gaze.

“His eyes are frozen over, so he tries to rely on his other senses to keep him out of trouble. Unfortunately those seem to not work well either.”

Eduard’s cheeks glowed a dark shade of pink. He mumbled something incoherent in the fool's direction and puffed his cheeks.

Magnus’ mind swirled. For a mere servant, Eduard had quite a bit to say. It was a shame that he had so much to reveal. Before confusion could settle in, however, he allowed his innate impulse to take control. He clasped a hand onto the other’s shoulder and turned him in the direction of the beaming sun.

“Come with me.”

* * *

The travel to the Viking campsite had almost lost its worth in the summer heat.

They kept themselves at a fair distance. Magnus’ people were known for not straying far from their boats, but the kingdom’s unpredictable landscape made it impossible for them to be close to both their ships and the castle. Their halfway point was a two hour walk from either direction. 

Magnus could almost smell the faint saltiness of the sea as he progressed along the rocky landscape. Tall grass swept across his pant legs, and his face stung from exposure. The campsite’s surroundings weren’t much of an improvement; the cleared land meant there was limited shade from the scorching sun, and when the two finally arrived, the burnt faces and chests of his warriors seemed to blend with each other. 

“Hey, Bj⌀rn!” the prince shouted as he waved at the man seated in front of him. He was slightly taller than Magnus, with light hair and a broad build. He greeted the other with a quick nod from his place on a fallen log, before continuing his work whittling an unknown shape from a chunk of wood.

Bj⌀rn was burly and intimidating. He towered over Magnus’ people when he stood, and his physical build made it obvious that he was a king. Bj⌀rn ruled the Gothic land across the sea from his own home. The two had agreed upon exploring the land to the east together, though at times they had trouble meeting an agreement on simple ideas. Magnus told himself it was the sea’s fault; the vastness of the ocean could drive anyone’s patience over the edge. He couldn’t explain, however, why the boat’s rockiness continued to shake the two on land. 

“Giving me the silent treatment, huh?” Magnus shouted. He motioned for the servant to climb down from the horse, the prince following his action. He swaggered towards Bj⌀rn and slapped his hand down on his shoulder. “Typical Bj⌀rn!”

The other man cocked an eyebrow in the direction of the stranger. “Who is that?”

“A servant for the royal court. He wants to join us.” He turned to face the anxious Eduard, then back to his comrade. “He can’t understand our language.”

Bj⌀rn looked him up and down. His face crackled as his rigidness exposed a slight smile. “Nice outfit,” he mumbled with a poorly concealed laugh.

Magnus drowned in a deep blue garb. His sleeves swallowed his arms, and the silver crown upon his head had edges that shot up to the heavens. 

“Thank you! I can get you one too, if you’d like!”

Bj⌀rn regained his stoic posture and grunted in response. Magnus motioned for the servant to follow him as they stepped over fallen tree branches, wound through tents, and greeted his humdrum comrades. He found the man he was scanning for outside of a tent, tending to a fresh fire. The prince shouted for the wanderer, and then waved to him. 

“Oy, Timo! I have tried every word you taught me, but she still refuses to fuck! What should I do?”

The wanderer jumped to his feet. “I hope you are not saying it like _that_!” 

Timo had his quirks. Being a native Finn, the warriors had stumbled upon the trilingual man when they first set foot in Ivan’s land. His mannerisms knew no culture, and his optimism suffocated those around him. Maybe that was why the prince’s group had spared his life, or maybe it was because he could weave his words into whichever language that was needed. 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare do that with her. I, uh, like having my head.” Magnus pat Timo on the back and introduced him to Eduard. He gave the wanderer an eager salute and brushed past the duo, who had immediately started an intense conversation.

Magnus finally found who he was looking for on the other side of the campground. Behind the makeshift homes and open fires, he spotted his half-brothers in the distance. The younger, who was distinguishable with his immature height and natural pout, held a rounded shield in one hand and a glittering sword in the other. His brother, who was more lean and a few inches taller, matched him with his weapons. Together, they pushed and pulled against each other, with the rhythm of their shouts keeping pace.

“Hey, Sigurd! Eirik!”

The younger of the two buckled into the dirt. His brother’s steel tip was pointed at his throat. Sigurd threw the sword and shield away from him, as did Eirik with his own weapons, and Magnus watched the duos’ mouths move before they approached him. 

“Oy, you didn’t forget about us after all,” Sigurd said with a hint of surprise.

“I’m just as surprised as you are! I thought you guys would have sailed off by now.”

“We wanted to.”

The three stood for a moment before they pulled each other into one tight hug. Magnus nestled his chin onto their shoulders and let out a chipper sigh while he took in the scent of fresh dirt and flowers. They remained close together after their embrace slowly unraveled itself.

“Look at you.” Magnus ruffled the youngest’s hair. Eirik was lanky, though his attitude reached higher than his height. “You’re seventeen already, huh? You look a little taller now, too!”

Eirik scowled and crossed his arms. It didn’t stop his cheeks from glowing. 

“How are things in the castle?” the middle sibling interrupted upon seeing the youngest’s embarrassment.

“I think the gods are after me.”

“I can’t say if they are, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” Magnus swore he caught him winking.

“What is that supposed to mean, Sigurd-”

“You are thin. Have you not been eating?”

The eldest’s burst of joy had diminished. Though his clothes were spacious, the fabric couldn’t hide his gaunt cheeks. 

“I do not eat when Ivan’s sister is nearby. I don’t trust her.”

Eirik cocked his head. His shaggy bangs hung in front of his eyes. “The one you’re married to?”

Magnus gave a single, heavy nod.

The youngest’s light eyes widened. “What is she like?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“And?”

“But her mind is cloudy. You can see it if you look at her. It is like she has nothing going on inside her head. But, I know there is something.”

He knocked his knuckles against his head.

“Her silence is louder than she thinks.”

Sigurd crossed his arms and smirked. “A woman who thinks. It looks like Mighty Magnus has met his match.”

“Hey! She threatens me any chance she gets!

“Have you had any dreams lately?”

“Is this why you came back to camp?”

“No, no! I came back because I miss you. All of you.” Magnus looked around before leaning in, despite the trio being isolated from the others. “Even Bj⌀rn!”

“ _I_ miss Mother-”

“-and good fish!” Eirik interjected. A rosy pink painted his cheeks. He glanced down, and then mumbled an agreement with Sigurd.

“It has been months, Magnus. When are we supposed to attack? We have been here since the beginning of the spring-”

Magnus defensively threw his arms up in front of him. “I know, I know. I’m just waiting for Ivan to get weaker. I’m still learning their culture. It’s...interesting.”

“You are an idiot. But, we are prepared for whatever your idiocy may bring.”

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to know what that entails?”

The middle brother was far too valuable to lose. After falling from a tree branch as a child, he awoke two weeks after to find that he gained the knowledge of the gods. His claims went unrecognized until his first public fit, where he collapsed on the meeting hall’s floor and informed anyone who would listen of a fast approaching enemy. Hailed as a seer, the royal viking brother held his own unique position in both the village and the household.

But he didn’t always dream. More often than not, his limbs would flail and his brief convulsions only left him exhausted. When messages didn’t come through, Sigurd would pray and proclaim his devotion to his masters until his mind was clear enough to receive their words. He was insistent on proving his worth by training to become a warrior, too, and the only enemy standing in his way was the impending fit that occurred after the battle. No one knew why the gods destined Sigurd to be their voice, but he was well respected nonetheless.

The prince inhaled through his teeth. Sigurd’s deep, cobalt eyes stared him down as he waited for a witty, hassling remark. At times, Magnus couldn’t see the fairness in his brother being gifted with both spiritual _and_ rational thinking abilities. 

A painful silence choked the air, and the seer finally spoke. His deep voice rolled from his throat like waves.

“Gold will melt. Fathers will cry for their sons. A world of ice will be heated with passion.”

Magnus’ lips curled into a smirk. Gently, he leaned in to his brother’s cheek and gave it a kiss. 

“I knew I could count on you,” he whispered. Then he smacked Sigurd’s shoulder and flashed him a wide grin. 

“Now, don’t just stand there! I’m hungry!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is up! I know it's been a few weeks since the last update, but I've been busy with work and life. The good news is that I have 90% of the story written in total, which makes writing and posting much easier than writing as I post.
> 
> I wrote Magnus, Sigurd, and Eirik as half brothers because I thought they would make for an interesting family dynamic. If anyone is confused, Sigurd can see glimpses of the future. My intention isn't to disrespect seizure disorders.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, have a nice day! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman is a war.

It was drizzling. August always brought a week of obscenely warm days. Natalya could only describe the feeling on the back of her neck as God's spit. She figured she deserved it; maybe this was His evidence that He was real. The sweat leaking from her skin, combined with the depressing humidity from the storm, trapped her and her sister indoors for the time being.

They found themselves in the kitchen. Katyusha had made the brave decision to fill her basket with strawberries before the sky opened, and she narrowly escaped the rain coming back in. She insisted they bake a dessert for their brother, who was bedridden after collapsing hours before. The kitchen was ominously quiet as the two women chopped the red fruit into smaller pieces. Natalya wondered how many other sounds a knife can make, besides hitting against wooden cutting boards and slicing through mens' guts.

Tolys practically ran into the counter when he threw himself through the door-frame. Much to the sisters' horror, his hand flung itself into a bowl of discarded, boiled strawberries. When he retrieved his soiled palm, his fingers were coated with vermilion jam.

"My apologies, ladies."

"State your business in our kitchen, and then get the hell out," Natalya growled, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Wine, for the king." His breath sounded like waves to the younger sister. She stuck her finger in the direction of a deep barrel in the corner of the kitchen. The knight dunked a nearby goblet into the casket, and shriveled when he heard Natalya's voice shout for him to not sink his sticky hand into it.

"Your washing is outside," she declared.

"My lady, it is raining."

"Correct. There should be enough water for you out there."

Tolys' lips curled into a shaky grin. "Yes, my lady," he replied, his frizzy hair sticking to his neck as he bowed. Like a weather-vane, then turned on his heels and left, only for him to be transformed into the dreaded man Natalya hated so much.

Magnus leaned on the door-frame with a smirk plastered on his face. The tip of his nose was sunburned, and shone unusually in comparison to the gray sky outside. Natalya tried her best to ignore the viking in front of her, and instead she focused on the melody of her knife chopping through a fresh roll of dough. That same blade came close to slicing through her husband's fingers when he dipped them into the same bowl that Tolys drenched himself in. The woman was aware of Katyusha's palm wrapped around her forearm, perhaps to keep her from lunging at the man. The newlyweds locked eyes as Magnus drew his soaked fingers across his tongue.

"I haven't had strawberries in a long time," the warrior stated as he cleaned his hand with his saliva. He just barely dodged Natalya's knife-wielding hand as it swung at his temple. His grin resurfaced when he whipped his neck to focus on her again.

"You men are always putting your fingers where they do not belong!" Natalya tossed her knife towards the wall, just barely missing her frantic sister, and scooped her own hand into the bowl of strawberries. She smeared it across his stone face, leaving her own fingers laced with the sickening red coating.

Katyusha already had a towel for her sister right as she made the attempt to look for one. Then, the woman wiped Magnus' face from across the table, until all that was left was a sticky shine on his cheek.

"Hello, Magnus," the elder greeted with what Natalya had to assume was a forced smile. It made her sick.

"Do not be nice to him."

"Hello, Lady Kat." The prince bowed slightly. When he rose, he gestured vaguely at the display in front of him. "What is...this?"

Natalya rolled her eyes, while her sister's sparkled. The elder clasped her fingers together and grinned.

"We are making pastries! You are free to try one, if you stay for a little while more."

"No! These are for Big Brother."

"But Nat, there will be many left over."

Silence, then a crack of thunder. The pounding coming from the sudden heaviness of the rain outside battered Natalya's ears. Magnus must have sensed the weight crushing the room too, because before she could scold him once more for standing near her, he excused himself and hurried through the door from which he came. Damp grass and caked soil replaced the smell of sickeningly sweet strawberries.

"There is no reason for you to be rude to him," Katyusha snapped, her brows furrowing.

"I have every right to be," the younger growled.

"You probably hurt his feelings! He walked out!"

"Do barbarians have feelings?"

Katyusha sighed. She wrung her nervous hands in her apron. "We are all children of God. Even if he is a pagan, he still shares the same mix that we have in our bodies."

Magnus was a viking, but Natalya was sick when she thought of him bleeding the blood of humans. At the same time, the vision that passed through her mind of him, collapsing on the floor with his insides in his hands, wasn't too bad of a daydream.

* * *

"Big Brother, I _refuse_ to consummate with him."

Natalya knew his tricks all too well. She had trouble telling whether his coughing fit this time was coming from his illness, or the speed from which he stuffed the lovingly made pastries into his maw.

"Big Brother, I said I want a divorce," she said a little bit louder, hoping he could hear her through his constant chewing.

"He is almost dead, not almost deaf," Raivis piped in from his seat on the stone floor. The woman threw her hand into the air, but decided in the end to not slap him. She was not in the mood for aggression. Nevertheless, the fool still flinched at her movements.

Ivan dusted the crumbs from his hands. Remnants of his treat rained from his chin when he moved his jaw. Katyusha stood at his side armed with a moist cloth, ready to capture the crumbs.

"I understand your concern," he started, his voice hoarse and low. "But the marriage is final. There is no way in Heaven or in Hell I would leave you two without support."

"You are eating fucking _pastries_! Do dying men eat as they waste away?"

"You only get to die once!" Ivan proclaimed. "I might as well enjoy myself, don't you think?"

"Spoken like a true masochist!" the fool exclaimed with cheer.

"Shut up! Dying soldiers don't even ask for food when their feet turn black. How are _you_ hungry?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Ivan-"

" _Have_ I ever lied to you?" His tone turned sinister. The usual honey in his voice churned her stomach. A retaliation began to sputter from Natalya's lips, until Raivis caught the corner of her eye.

"Why do you let the drunken fool in here?"

The king's lips stretched and his cheeks glowed once more. "He is a good conversationalist!"

Raivis let out a whine. "Hey, I'm only a drunken fool when I'm drunk!"

Natalya growled.

Ivan clapped his hands once. "Nat needs some cheering up! Fool, please sing me that song you performed last night!"

The younger sister rolled her eyes. Her gaze lazily rested on her brother's jubilant expression, while her blood boiled. With nothing less than a stumble, the teenager rose to his feet and cleared his throat. A lyre appeared from underneath the bed, and without commentary, he began to strum the instrument.

"When waters freeze over and forests grow bare,

The lady will sit at her window and stare.

The sunshine all gone, she'll look out and wonder

If luck is the same for those who blunder.

My mistress is Death-"

"-Enough about this death bullshit!" Natalya swiped at the teenager. Her sharp fingernails just barely missed his rosy cheeks as he leapt out of her way. Despite the heavy huffing and aghast o-shape forming on his lips, his eyes lit mischievously.

Katyusha's sudden, motherly gesture of wiping Ivan's chin was more of a nervous tic than it was of aid to the king. His fingers gently laced around her forearm and pushed her hands aside.

"I think it is best if I speak with Natalya in private," he stated. The two women met each other's eyes, before Katyusha silently placed a hand on Raivis' back and escorted him from the bedroom. Once the heavy door slammed shut, the youngest royal gripped the end of the bed.

"I wish you spoke with me about..." She gestured around her. "This! Everything!"

"You're nineteen. When will you act your age?"

"Kat is twenty-three. I'm forever grateful for Sadiq's offering to marry her before she becomes too old. Uh, I don't think she's an aging women, but...you know how men are outside of the castle grounds. If I were to pass while waiting for a suitor for the two of you, chaos would ensue, don't you think?"

"I would have at least liked to have a choice in who I share a bed with," she grumbled. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Would you be happier if I married you off to one of the court attendees? Maybe..."

His voice trailed off until even its silence didn't linger in the humid air. They both knew the eyes and ears of the castle, and how they'd rip each other apart like a pack of wolves to claim his throne.

"I'm not made for marriage."

"I know."

She exhaled fiercely through her nostrils.

Ivan cleared his throat. He glanced out the window, then focused his attention back to his tense sister. She felt as sturdy as the wooden bed her brother lay on with how straight her back stood, but on the inside, she was ready to bend inwards.

"I would like a crown of flowers when I die. Something natural, you see? Gold and silver, what are they, exactly? They are forged by men and weigh you down. I already feel as if I'm forcing my feet forward when I wear my crown. Maybe that is what drags me down to my grave. Is that something you think you can do?"

Natalya chewed her lip. Every conversation they had since he fell ill involved death. It was like a lover to him; death embraced him, and he was absolutely infatuated with it. In a way, she found herself jealous, yearning, even for the same affection from him.

She gave a single, rigid nod.

"And Nat?"

"Yes?"

"When you and Kat are seated on your own, separate thrones, promise me you won't kill each other."

* * *

"Tolys."

She reached for the front of his trousers. A gasp escaped his lips

"Why are they not dead?"

"My lady." He gulped. "I cannot kill them while your brother lives."

Natalya was well aware of how they looked. She, straddling the panting, still clothed knight on her bed. He, with cheeks engulfed by a pink flame. If someone were to walk into her bedroom, the two wouldn't be able to conjure an explanation for their position. Explaining herself wasn't a concern for her, however. She didn't need to explain anything.

Her fingers hummed after they met the side of Tolys' face. His cheekbone stayed on her palm, his blood under her nails. She climbed off of his laying body and held her head with her violent hands. She rippled with the bed as the knight's body shifted.

"Patience is power."

"Is it?" the lady asked, still not looking forward.

"If you say something enough, you'll start to believe it."

She shrugged. Light strands of hair fell from her shoulders. "What is your good reason for waiting?

"I made a visit to Father Feliks. He's a priest and apothecary-"

"I know who he is. He smells like he sleeps outside."

A light laugh escaped him. Feliks' herbs were, at times, too strong for even Tolys to be around.

"He gave me poison."

"Poison is a woman's weapon-"

"-You're the one who wants them dead."

He bit his tongue with regret. Her gaze fell on him, her brows furrowing.

"You might benefit from drinking the poison yourself if you continue to speak out of turn!" she snarled, her nails digging into his knee. He shifted uncomfortably, but found himself too drained to push her away.

The knight thought his words over before speaking again. Sweat collected on his forehead. Meanwhile, her fingers danced up his thigh. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tickle from her touch couldn't keep his lips shut tightly.

"I'm going to drop it in your husbands' wine chalices at the funeral. We'll wait a month, and then we can proceed with our marriage."

Tolys' hazel eyes reopened just in time for him to see the princess' numb expression turn sour.

"We don't know when his death will be! You can't speak so matter-of-factly! He could pass in a month, a year, a day even! You sound like a god!"

Her words hung heavily in the now tense air. The last of her words were choked. Natalya's features grew soft, her eyes shifting to something at her side. Tolys had the urge to stroke her face, or pull her into a hug that she seemingly needed, but he knew better than that. He knew not to embrace wolves.

"My lady, there won't be a single benefit to killing them now. What do you think your brother will do if your husband is dead? He'll just find the next suitor while I rot in prison."

His shaking fingers met her fist, which was about ready to swing at him. He leaned in to place a kiss on her bony knuckles.

"Please, place your faith in me," he whispered.

Natalya's free hand caressed his cheek. Her thumb nail stabbed his shaved chin. Tolys felt like a deer; her hooded eyes were an archer, poised with a bow and arrow ready, and he was the creature stuck frozen in man's hungry gaze.

But maybe, he thought, there were some deer who relished in the exchange. With Natalya knelt above him, any sense of impending doom melted into the room's interior. His cheek no longer burned.

"I already have."

The woman crawled from the bed and floated to the window. The sill grew noticeably damp from precipitation when she threw the shutters open, yet she still leaned on the stone fixture. Though her face poked out the window and her cheeks were kissed by the light sprinkling of rain, Tolys could swear he saw self-forming drops leave her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're officially halfway through He Who Carves the Stars! How are you feeling? Are you excited, on edge, nervous, hungry for pastries maybe? This chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to start Chapter 5 with where this chapter was originally supposed to end (because I wanted to finally get this chapter posted). 
> 
> I'm hoping to have the fic finished by the end of September. School is starting soon, so right now I'm spending as much time as I can finishing the chapters I've written before I'm sucked into academic writing. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, have a great day! :)


	5. Chapter 5

The threaded clouds from the continuous rain in the beginning of the week had rolled away. Remnants of it left behind mud that splattered across Magnus’ boots when he stepped in it. Thor’s bellowing hammer followed him across the ocean and into a Christian world, and for that he was thankful. Magnus liked to think the excess of lightning came from his god fighting with this foreign, Christian God. 

The sweet scent of summer rain lingered in the air and followed the two men as they strolled to the campsite. Of course, the prince preferred his travel partner to be the tickling of tall grass or the crying of birds. The agitated sun’s journey across the sky made for a better clock than the servant’s flying voice.

He found himself visiting the barn when his homesickness grew. The overwhelming aroma of hay, along with the crying of various animals, touched his heart and brought him back to Denmark. As a member of this foreign kingdom, he was discouraged, forbidden, even, to dirty his hands in livestock matters like he used to. 

It was here where he would speak with Eduard. The prince didn’t mind the remnants of hay and manure on his clothes, though his wife made a scene whenever he entered a room in his soiled outfits. He was waiting for the day she’d tell him to just sleep in the barn, which he would happily do if given the chance. 

This time, they continued their conversation away from the barnyard. Whining animals could only cover so much of Magnus’ curiosity. Besides, Eduard had a price of his own, and the prince wasn’t one to break his promises. 

“Tell me about that soldier your king has.” Magnus flipped a coin in his fingers. It was part of the kingdom’s currency. This coin specifically was gold and chipped along the edges, and it was these ridges the prince ran his fingertips along as they conversed.

“Tolys, yes. He was just recently knighted. He has served the king since they were both children.”

“Is he strong?”

The servant tapped his chin in thought. “I think he underestimates his strength. He could easily snap someone’s neck, if he was that kind of person.”

Then, despite it being only the two of them in the winding woods, Eduard lowered his voice. The veins that lined the stiff trees creaked. “I don’t trust him.”

Magnus quirked a brow. 

“Oh? Why not?” he asked, a hint of mischievousness blossoming on his lips.

“I was demoted two months ago. I used to serve Ivan’s meals, but then Tolys came back from fighting off a neighboring group of...you guys.”

Eduard gulped. Magnus couldn’t help but smile to himself as the image of Ivan’s men retreating from the Northman’s arrows came to mind.

“He’s been feeding the king ever since, but…”

“Hmm?”

“What I’m saying is, Ivan has been sick since Tolys came back. Isn’t that strange?”

Magnus made a noise in agreement. “Strange indeed. Are you implying something?”

The servant choked. His cocky grin fell into a trembling line. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

“I think I can figure it out on my own,” the prince hurried. “What about Natalya? What’s up her obnoxious sleeves?” 

Magnus smirked to himself when he heard the other mumble something about her sleeves being rather puffy.

“She could drown a fish if she wanted to. I don’t know what she’s going to do after Ivan dies. They’ve always been close, or at least I’m guessing they’ve been. You know, she used to cry whenever he started coughing. He was bedridden like this a few years ago, too, but that was only for a couple weeks. She’d stay by his side all throughout the day and night. She barely ate, and we used to tell the time by how long her fingernails grew.” 

_ Anyone can drown a fish; you just have to take it out of water _ . Magnus sucked on his teeth. The more Natalya pushed him from her, the more curious he admittedly grew. He felt compelled to learn more about her. No; observe. Research, like the scholars in the humid south. What creature cries like a wolf, arches their back like a mortified barn-cat, and keeps their claws pointed out like a sickle? He didn’t know of any women like this from his homeland. 

“Hey, can I, uh, tell you something?” Eduard’s sudden interjection broke through his reflection. The initial cockiness in his tone died down.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“I’m dreading his death. Ivan is a cruel child, but Natalya is a caged animal.”

“And Katyusha is...?”

“A saint, really. She’s as sweet as honey! Though, I think that makes the flies stick to her.” He let out an awkward, forced laugh.

“Got it.”

They took a few more steps before Eduard’s shaky voice started again. 

“I try to not care so much about Ivan’s affairs, but I can’t help it. He’s taken a liking to Raivis. They spend a lot of time together. I, uh, don’t want to make it seem as if I think Raivis is being hurt but...he’s my good friend! It’s just odd that he’s forced to sing and dance.”

“Well, maybe if the other fools didn’t go get their hands cut off, he’d still be cleaning up after the animals!”

Eduard seemed to ignore the remark. “I don’t mind Ivan. I nod my head when he wants me to do so. Don’t think he pities me, though. He used to move  _ his  _ furniture around too to trick me, before he became bedridden.” 

Magnus shook his head. When he swept his mane of hair away from his face, a cheeky grin became exposed to the break of light in the clouds. 

‘ _ What have I gotten myself into _ ?’ he thought, though that only made the mockery seem funnier.

“When Ivan dies, Natalya’s going to do something drastic.” Eduard’s confidence had grown between the other’s cackles. “I’ve known her for too many years. When she doesn’t get her way, she riots enough for a small town to feel it.”

Muffled voices could be heard in the distance. In the crevice of the hill the two had been trekking lay their destination. Nature-cloaked men in varying sizes shuffled below them, and once again, Magnus’ heart ached for home. 

Magnus flipped the coin one last time. He absorbed the ridges in his fingertips before pocketing it in his purse. Its remnants lay like dried rivers in his pale palm.

“In that case, maybe this caged animal needs a smaller cage.”

* * *

“Isn’t this a little mean?”

The shoulder Magnus was using as an armrest shrugged. He could feel Eirik’s deep stare in his temple, but the look was easily deflected. Much easier, that is to say, than Eduard’s attempts at getting the arrow to stick in the bloodied circle painted onto a nearby tree.

The servant’s tongue stuck out as he concentrated. On one side of him was Timo, who kept placing his hands on the bow to position it for the blind shooter. Magnus and his brothers kept themselves a good distance from the blind man, as did the other Northmen, who all gathered to eagerly watch the event unfold.

The prince cupped his hands to his face.

“Oy, Timo! Unless you’re going to be positioning him on the battlefield, I suggest you stop that!”

Timo jumped, startled from the other’s sudden comment. He glanced over to Eduard. Magnus watched the traveler’s mouth move before he patted the other on the back and rushed over to the princes.

The eldest prince felt Eirik’s hair rustle against his sleeve as he turned to the middle brother. 

“Sigurd,” the immature voice uttered.

Sigurd had himself propped against a fallen log. One of his arms hung over the tree bark, while the other was being used to hold onto a silver cup. An earlier fit exhausted the energy from his body, though a divine message didn’t come through. Seated beside him was Bj ø rn ,  who was busy ripping the fur from a wild rabbit. Without shifting his vision from the failing archer ahead of him, Sigurd gave his opinion.

“He said he wants to become one of us. We have to at least see what he’s capable of.” 

Magnus let out an ostentatious laugh and shouted, “Oy, I think Eirik here can aim better than you!”

The teenager slid out of his grip and crossed his clothed arms over his chest. He was always a slippery kid, but Magnus couldn’t ignore the scowl that seemed to be living on his face since his summer birthday. 

“You’ll understand when you’re older.” The leader pinched Eirik’s cheek, only to be playfully pushed away. A hint of a smile crossed the younger one’s lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Timo, flushed and panting, moved to stand beside Magnus. His eyes shifted from the prince to his brothers. Magnus picked at a speck of dirt hanging from his fingernail.

“You think it’s mean too, don’t you Timo?”

The wanderer looked to the youngest brother, then to the oldest. He scratched the back of his head, but gave Eirik a sympathetic grin.

“Eh…?”

“What were you whispering to him?” Magnus interrupted.

Timo, flustered, threw his hands out in front of him. “Nothing! I was just giving him tips on how to aim.”

“Don’t get his hopes up,” Sigurd added groggily. 

“I still think you’re being unfair,” the youngest whined. 

“Eh?!” Magnus’ thoughts swirled. The castle had a severe lack of open alcohol, so the only source came from wherever the Northmen were able to carefully raid. Sometimes they came back with barrels of sour wine, while other days brought them a potent brew. Today they reaped a latter batch. 

The teenager’s eyes fell to his bare, grass-covered feet. “He can’t see a hand in front of him, let alone a target. Why does he need to be publicly mocked?”

Magnus slapped his hand against Timo’s back, startling the other. Then, he placed it on the other’s shoulder to turn him in Eduard’s direction.

“Attend to him. No...bring him over here. No, actually...”

The prince stumbled as he dragged Timo and Eirik into an embrace. Then, he dragged the two men in his grip over to the seated duo. Huddled together, he lowered his voice and began to speak.

“Look, this is the only way I can get him to help us. Besides, he has to keep those hands of his out of trouble. He knows the ins and outs of the castle. According to him, there may or may not be a knight stalking the halls with some slow-working poison.”

Sigurd leaned forward with a groan. “What? Does he really think the king’s being poisoned by his own best man?” 

“If I’m lucky enough, I’ll obtain the truth behind it.” Magnus smirked and flashed an uneven grin. “I’ve heard the blind have ears that receive from the divine, but I think the only voice in his head is his own.”

“So Lord Ivan really is dying.”

Timo’s tone was cold, flat, a contrast of the current season. Magnus felt the other drop in his embrace.

“Not that I care, honestly!” The wanderer straightened his back. The prince took a moment to watch the other’s blond eyebrows dance as he stuttered.

“It’s just...well, he’s not my king. I don’t have a ruler I’m loyal to since I’m always moving around. I’ve been here for much longer than I should, maybe two years or so. I know Ivan can be wicked, but I think part of me will still feel something when he passes.” 

“Like what?” Sigurd asked, crimson dribbling down his tanned cheek from the wine in his cup.

“Like permanence.”

A roar, then the sound of flesh hitting wood. The commotion behind the men forced them out of their stoicism. Behind them, the bloody circle was split in half by a crooked arrow. Across from it stood Eduard, who lifted his bow high with a childlike laugh. 

“Death is an extravagant event in this kingdom,” the wanderer began suddenly. “Don’t expect to be in and out of the dining hall-”

“Dining...hall?” Magnus asked with childlike curiosity. 

Timo nodded. “After someone dies, there’s a feast. There’s a long funeral ceremony, and then the body is placed in a crypt on the courtyard grounds. The whole kingdom is supposed to be invited, though I can’t see the princesses adhering to that rule. They’ve always preferred to stay away from the people. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of them in the village, actually...” 

The prince’s stray bangs bounced as he looked to Sigurd, then to the blushing Eirik. 

“I’m confident we’ll be prepared for whatever they decide to do with my brother-in-law’s burial. I’ll send word when Ivan dies. You two will be attending the funeral I presume?”

His brothers exchanged glances. Sigurd lifted his cup in Magnus’ direction.

“We’ll be there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm so sorry this chapter is late. School and work are my priority at the moment, so I haven't had much time to even look at my WIPs. This chapter was going to be longer, but I've decided to combine the second part of Chapter 5 with 6 for editing purposes. I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic, haha!!! 
> 
> Have a nice day :)


	6. Chapter 6

Sadiq called for him one mild afternoon.

He was instructed to meet the other man in a ghostly room, towards the opposite end of Magnus’ usual wing and outside of his familiarity. A spiral staircase took him up to the loft. Sun shone through tall windows, which Magnus used as his excuse for the sudden warmth that overcame him. 

“It’s a library, ya like it?” 

The man’s booming voice bounced off the walls and struck him. In his nervous haze, the prince spotted Sadiq, as well as Katyusha, seated on a wooden bench by the darker corner of the room.

“A...what?”

“A library! See the shelves lining these walls? They’re books! Don’t touch them, though, Kat says Ivan will crack his whip if you disturb the dust on their spines!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“My first wife died in childbirth. I remarried, but she fell ill and soon passed, too.”

“Oh, my! I know you’ve told the story before, but it sounds awful every time I hear it.” Katyusha grabbed his hands. Her round face softened with worry.

“Don’t make that face, Kat! Third time’s the charm, as they say!” His laughter shook the room. 

The married couple exchanged a quick kiss, much to Magnus’ discomfort. He knew his sunburn couldn’t hide the blood that flourished in his cheeks. Part of him felt a sort of painful yearning, watching them interact the way they did. When Katyusha pulled herself away from her husband, a snaggletooth exposed itself from her euphoric smile. The only time he came close enough to Natalya was when she laid her hands on him to push him out of her sight. 

“I am surprised you are so keen on talking about land. When I was your age, all I wanted to do was expand my kingdom. Now I’m too tired. Thank God my son has offered to take control up here.”

“You have a son?”

“His name is Heracles. He’s around your age, I’m sure.” Sadiq’s cheeks glowed under his mask. “I used to bring him up here “But, if we’re lucky, we’ll hopefully have another one on the way.”

The older man placed a hand on his wife’s stomach and kissed her once more. The woman’s porcelain skin suddenly flushed.

“I haven’t told my sister yet. It isn’t certain. I just...have my reason to speculate.” 

“How about you, Magnus? Are children on your mind?”

“They would be, if I was allowed to sleep in my bed.”

The prince had grown accustomed to sleeping on the stone floor of his royal bedroom. Natalya insisted on keeping her bed pure, and he knew his chance of living to see the sun was higher if he was below her. 

“I’m sorry about her.” Katyusha gasped as if afraid of her own admittance. “I can’t offer an explanation for why she acts the way she does. The only man she’s ever been close to is our brother, oddly enough...”

Magnus held up a hand. 

“No apology is needed, Lady Kat. There is nothing wrong with a strong-willed woman. A woman who knows what she wants and when she wants it is surely one who will keep me on my toes.”

He thought he saw a hint of a smile grace her lips.

“You said you have a child?”

The Turkish man leaned forward and rested his elbows on his bare knees. 

“He’s named after one of the old Greek gods; Heracles. Heracles strangled snakes as a baby, and bedded with many women. The ancients used to write about him and his legacies.”

“He sounds...powerful, intimidating even.” Magnus smirked slightly. “Are you sure he is your’s?”

Sadiq’s expression mirrored his. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied in a velvet tone.

“I’m not feeling well. Please, excuse me.”

One of Katyusha’s porcelain hands carried her abdomen, while the other clutched her mouth. Swiftly, she ghosted out of the library, shadowless in the hall. 

Sadiq slapped his hands onto his knees. His face fell as he leaned forward. Veins popped from his broad hands.

“What are you planning?”

“Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When I was your age, all I wanted to do was rule the world. You are young, but choosing  _ now  _ to settle down? I’m surprised you didn’t have one of your brothers married off to rule the northern half.”

Magnus couldn’t help but fidget with the wedding ring on his finger. The initials in the band engraved his skin and made it itch. It didn’t fit comfortably, not like the Norse ring on his opposite hand. 

“They’re still young. Besides, I figured as the oldest, I’m the one who has to face the monster.”

“I’ve lived long enough to know you’re full of shit.”

“My motives are not of your concern,” the prince snapped. 

“Do you know what’s under my mask?”

Magnus didn’t speak. The only movement that came from him was a twitching near the side of his lip. Sadiq lifted the half-moon shape and revealed a deep, sickly white river running from one side of his forehead to just underneath the opposite eye. Parts of it were reminiscent of mountains, with the way they raised away from his face.

“I threw a party for my son’s coming of age. There was quite a bit of drinking; too much, in fact. I placed my trust in my enemies. When I returned to my bedchamber that night, I was awaken by a dagger hovering over my throat. The assassin got the Hell scared out of him, and in his confusion he missed and slid the blade across my face.”

Magnus remained silent. The largeness of the other ruler suddenly made itself known. The Northman found himself eyeing the other’s tanned muscles, his dark stubble, his curly hair that hung at his ears.

Sadiq continued. “I am an invincible man. God made me that way. I have survived similar attempts to end my life. Capture, torture, rumors, you name it.”

The silence became a humming white noise, echoing from the high ceiling.

“You may have noticed I’ve sent my soldiers away.” 

Indeed he had. Not long after the wedding proceeded, the southern troops marched out of the courtyard, never to be seen again. Magnus didn’t put much thought to it at first, assuming they would return as soon as they disappeared. The current affairs, as well as his mental anguish, had forced the incident to slip from his mind.

“I believe I can handle myself on my own. No one will want to invade this terrain.”

‘ _ You believe many false things _ ,’ the Northman wanted to say. Instead, he sucked on his lower lip, breathed in, and said, “I trust your judgement.”

* * *

Natalya’s stomach churned. She groaned and twisted her body across her dull bed, but the cramps would not subside. When she chose to stop her contortionism, Katyusha gently rubbed her lower abdomen in solidarity.

The younger sister’s painful moans subsided after a moment of massaging. It was in this instance, when the quiet of the room felt as if it could physically tear them away from each other, when her shaky voice broke through the silence.

“I might be with child.” 

Natalya’s lips turned upwards. “Good. We’ll have an heir. I take it I’ll be doing the bleeding for both of us?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying! Nat…” She moved close to her sister and said, “We can’t kill Sadiq!”

Natalya’s hands twitched. Her dreamy grin dropped as quickly as it appeared. “Why the fuck not?”

“Sadiq is a nice man. I’ve had the chance to understand him, and he understands me! Things were rough at first, sure, but now - now I’m proud to be his wife! He’s pious, he even lets me pray with him!”

The elder sister, in her ecstasy, grabbed hold of the other’s hands. 

“He wants to show me the south! I - I will meet his son, and we will have our own child!”

The younger, at first laying on her back, propped herself up on her elbows. She pulled herself out of the other’s grip. 

“How does his cock taste?” she questioned stoically.

“Natalya!”

“Katyusha.” 

“My child needs a father!” she gasped. Her brows furrowed, and she threw her shoulders back.

“I didn’t have a father and I turned out fine.”

Katyusha glared at her. 

“I...no.” The elder sister sighed and covered her face with her palms. “Natalya, please, spare Sadiq. I don’t want Magnus to die either, but-”

“You don’t want to keep the kingdom intact?”

When Natalya shifted her legs, she felt a warm rush of blood leave her thigh. She, bleeding, and Katyusha, pregnant. She, committed, and Katyusha, devoted. Why, Natalya wondered, were they fated to be so different?

“Get out.”

“-What?”

“Leave my bedchamber. Now.” Natalya’s line of sight went first to her sister’s identical, narrow eyes, then to the door behind her. 

The other began to shake. Her fingers danced in the folds of her gown. 

“I understand.”

Katyusha rose to her feet and wordlessly turned to face the door. Before she could place one foot in front of the other, however, her sister’s voice erupted.

“Send for Tolys,” Natalya added. “Tell him I need to speak with him. Immediately.” 

With a slow, solemn nod, Katyusha started her trek towards the hall. Natalya could feel the season change as her sister left a haunting trail as she left the room. When her footsteps grew distant, the younger allowed her hot tears to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get the f*** out of my room I'm playing Minecraft!
> 
> Now that's out of the way, I'm sorry for the late reply/short chapter. School is almost out, and this fic is almost done yeehaw!!! We have 3 more chapters left baby!!! How are we feeling???


	7. Chapter 7

She slowly danced her fingers up his arm. They stopped at the base of his neck, where she lightly rubbed the skin with her knuckles. Her other hand lingered on his hip. The knight shuddered as a response. Before he could throw himself headfirst into his lust, she released him and sent him away.

Natalya was beautiful. Tolys didn't think he could admire anyone else as much as he admired her. Her parted lips, her defined jawline, and her self-assurance were an aphrodisiac to him. As each breath she took sucked on his spirit, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was his happy ending. She drained him of doubt and worry.

He chided with her weekly, at first. Then, as Ivan's sickness kept him in his bed, it became almost a daily affair. He grew to expect Katyusha's tired voice ring for him to see her sister, who he would find puffy-eyed and red in her bedchamber. They would spend hours cradled together, her weeping in his welcoming arms, as she quietly stained the front of his tunic with tears. Occasionally she would speak, though be it poorly of her sister or of her husband. Her words were muffled. Tolys savored these moments. He could touch her and hold her, and every embrace she allowed made him feel like her true husband.

Other times, Natalia's wandering hands found his body. He secretly thanked God for her sadness. The young woman's depression allowed her to give in to something that would make her feel happier. At least, that was what Tolys believed. Still, there was a barrier between their intimacy. Magnus was alive, albeit not present. His existence alone was a stab through the knight's heart.

* * *

"I can't do this."

As soon as the words escaped his quivering lips, Tolys fell apart. He held his chestnut head in his hands as he began to weep at the wooden table.

Ivan was growing delusional. When he managed to stay awake, those around him attacked him with attention. They shouted at him, slapped his face, and at one point, attempted to pour water on him in hopes he would keep his eyes open. As his imminent death grew closer, the knight found himself awake in return. His nights were restless. Sleep refused to visit him, and the stars that loomed over his window felt like thousands of eyes. Some nights were spent vomiting his supper, while others left his emptied stomach in throbbing knots. Tolys knew he needed a spiritual cleansing, before his guilt swallowed him whole.

"I don't understand you, Tolys." Feliks crossed his arms and sighed. "You are trained to kill men. You _have_ killed men, Ivan has made sure of it! How is this time any different?"

"It isn't the same!" The knight banged his fist against the table, causing the priest to flinch. "When I am on the battlefield, I don't think about who I am killing! I don't know their names. I don't even know what they look like! But...Ivan..."

"What about him?"

"I have been by his side since childhood."

The priest pushed his chair back. He rose to his feet and held his arms behind his back, staring the knight down.

"Don't speak of him as if he is a friend to you," Feliks snapped. "What did you tell me when you first came to me? He was ready to send you to an outright battle with those pagans. You know you wouldn't have made it out alive."

"I wish I could go back and change things," Tolys whispered, almost to himself.

"You act as if you are the only soldier who has ever thought of murdering their king. How do you know your army hasn't been anticipating the exact thing you're accomplishing?"

The priest had a point, though Tolys wished it hadn't been uttered. No one liked Ivan, especially the men who fought for him. What was being a soldier, if not waiting for your chance to become king? Tolys should have been giddy with excitement. Instead, the plan he had hastily created was falling from his grip, all because of his damned emotions.

"Tell me, Tolys; whose side will we be on after Ivan dies? My house is in the middle of the kingdom. Who gets to claim me?"

"I will," the knight replied as he bit his lip.

"You and Natalya. Do you _really_ believe Natalya wants to marry you?"

"I love her." The words were strained as they left his tired throat.

Feliks' features softened. He sighed, then cupped his cool hand around Tolys' face.

"You are so full of love, and for all the wrong things. A holy knight, who is reveled in sin."

Tolys could feel his face tighten. Tears dampened the priest's fingers, which still lingered on his cheek.

"What will happen when I die?" the knight choked. "There's no way I'm going to Heaven!"

"God loves and forgives all of his children."

Guilty, shameful, vulnerable; all the feelings that came with being a child lived within him.

"I'm turning myself in. I can't live with Ivan's blood on my hands, and I especially can't kill their husbands. I'd rather die ten times over than take another life."

"You have to have faith! God will protect you."

"I...what? Faith?"

"God watches over all of us. If Ivan's death was needless, then let Him decide that."

A shift occurred. Tolys' heart felt full.

' _God_ ', he thought to himself. ' _I am a soldier of God, aren't I? Ivan is no God, he is just an earthly king. Our Heavenly God - that is who I must live for!_ '

And just like that, the anxious knight's nerves subsided. His new philosophy forced a smile to dance on his lips. He threw his head back and laughed. Despite his newfound faith, however, the priest stepped back in shock.

"God!" Tolys exclaimed. "Father, you're absolutely correct! Haha!" He pulled Feliks into a tight hug, sighing as he did so. The holy man smelled of basil.

Feliks' fingers dug into the other's back. "You can live with me, Tolys," he whispered. "Kill him and run here. You can stay in my basement."

The knight shook as devoted tears fell down his cheeks.

"I'll be waiting for you." The priest pulled himself from the other's grip. His eyes lit up as if he was ready to say something, but nothing left his mouth.

* * *

The once peaceful ride through the village lost its leisure. The ever-changing clouds that hung above him were now dark and ominous, and pieces of his heart seemed to trail behind him in each step from his horse's hooves. The only light that broke through his anxieties came from a distant hill, away from the public eye.

He could smell it before he saw it. Ahead of him was the faint flicker of an all-consuming fire. Its flames swallowed the darkness, though the shadows dancing around it grew when they moved this way and that. As Tolys steered his horse closer to the hill, he was met with the choking scent of burning wood, as well as unholy chants and rattling instruments. The knightly call to alarm the soldiers and arrest the pagans in control of it were nonexistent. The celebration entranced him, and the only thing that pulled him from his hypnosis was a set of figures passing by the fire; one of which was an averagely built man with shaggy, bobbed hair, and the other a child with hair tied back in pigtails.

* * *

"I like it when you serve me."

"I am honored to serve you, my lord-"

"Ivan. We are friends, Tolys."

"Ivan," he corrected with a sigh.

The poison lost its color in the wine, and Ivan never commented on the taste. Tolys was thankful; the last of his vial ominously swirled in the deep crimson drink, as it always did. This time however, half of the poison that he poured into the chalice disguised itself almost too well. If the knight didn't know better, he would have taken an unsuspecting swig of it himself.

The sun was beginning to leave the sky. Tolys' training had ended a mere hour before he made his way to the king's bedchamber, but the darkness the change of seasons brought that closed in on the castle drew the day to a tedious close. Ivan's bedridden status was no longer an unfamiliar sight, though Tolys had to admit, the sunset streaming across the king's face gave him the most color he held in months.

"I cannot trust the servants in these grounds. They...know too much. That blind one, Eduard, he can't fix my room the same way you do. I don't know why I even keep him around."

Tolys chuckled along with Ivan, though he wasn't sure why. Was it the flattery? Was it the truth? Or, could it have been his conscious escaping as he prepared to fill his task?

Ivan pushed himself away from his pillow. Then, he coughed. His tone shifted into something solemn.

"Remember when we were children? We used to play together, all four of us. You were supposed to clean and wait on me, but I can only recall us pretending to be kings."

"I was a king, and you were a king. I would pretend to marry Kat and take her as my queen, and you would do the same with Nat. We held the receptions in the sunflower field across the river. You used to get blamed for 'losing' us."

The king's expression turned into a childlike daydream. He let out a soft laugh. "I...cannot remember what we did in the winters."

"We stayed inside." Tolys counted his blessings. The king's eye contact was long gone, and he was confident the other couldn't see his tears brimming. "It is cold in the winter. I helped you with your lessons."

"I do not like the cold," Ivan stated. His tone went from that of a curious little boy to a dull, older man lost in his own thoughts. It sent chills down the knight's spine.

The king didn't seem to notice. "I hope it is warm where I am going, whether it be Heaven, or Hell-"

"Hell?!"

He continued, as if he didn't hear the knight. "Kat loves the summer. I thought her and Sadiq would make a nice pair, since he claims his kingdom is always sunny. I...I don't know what happened with Natalya."

Tolys' breath hitched.

"You know, I almost married you to Natalya."

"Pardon?"

"I was ready to finalize the details, but then Magnus and his pagan friends drew nearer. Selling her was my final option to prevent a war."

On instinct, the knight began to mentally pray. He called upon God once, then twice, then countless more times until his mind fluttered between God and Natalya. God, Natalya, God, Natalya, God Natalya, God-

"Sometimes I wish my father didn't pass so soon. I've been king for twelve years, but at what cost? Instead of going mad, I went weak."

Tolys found himself planted in place. His muscles refused to move. Suddenly, he anticipated the moment when the king would become his father; cold, alone, and coated with maggots.

"Tolys. Am I a good man?"

The chalice trembled in Tolys' grip.

"I am not one to judge."

"Everything I touch is covered in blood. I sold my sisters so the blood on me wouldn't become my own. If you were God, would you let me through the Gates of Heaven, or would you send me to the Depths of Hell?"

"Ivan, I cannot answer that."

"I will make the decision easier for you; Please, send me wherever the sunflowers are." With that, Ivan fell into his pillow. He licked his lips and sighed.

"Talking is making my throat hurt. Give me my wine."

A white light flashed in his vision. His heart slammed itself against his rib cage, the frantic beat reminding him of an army's final march into battle. Every inch of him wanted to dump the chalice out the window and confess to his poisons.

Instead, an invisible force pulled him forward. The knight no longer felt his movements, nor did he feel his legs approaching Ivan. For a split second, Tolys could swear he was watching himself from the ceiling of the castle.

_God damn pagans_.

The chalice switched hands. The king's slim fingers lightly touched his. Ivan's cheeks were gaunt, his eyelids heavy. His appearance was going to haunt the knight.

"Thank you, Tolys."

* * *

When Tolys finally arrived back to his bedchamber, his first course of action was to get rid of the poisonous vials he possessed. His heart continuously battered itself against his chest. In his state of agitation, he found himself with the dire need to reclaim his holiness. He flung his door open and threw himself onto his hands and knees. The man crawled under his bed and fumbled with a locked chest. It was a rusted yellow and green, and upon closer inspection, it held a dull shine. He attempted to click the lock open only to find that it was already undone. Tolys hoped for the best; that was, that he accidentally left the box unlocked when he initially placed it in its hiding spot. Upon opening it, however, he was met with a hollow space where the vials of poison should have been.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains depictions of violence and character death. Reader discretion is advised.

It was hard to tell if Ivan took a final breath. 

Though his body was warm, he swam in and out of consciousness. When he slept, his sisters took turns confirming his pulse. The few times he woke, he only kept his eyes open for a brief moment before falling asleep again. Sometimes, he mumbled before he was dragged back into his dreams. His skin was pale in comparison to the sun-kissed skin that belonged to his sisters.

Natalya refused to leave his side. 

Ivan finally awoke one last time as the sun set. It was initially a cough that pulled him from his slumber. The next cough snapped him awake. Then, the only thing he could manage to do was continue hacking. The king threw his mouth into the crook of his elbow, but as his cough worsened, he seemed to no longer care for formalities. The bedroom walls were soon hugged by the royal guests as they backed away from the spewing man. Blood accompanied the wheezing coming from his strained lungs. Towards the end of his life, his fingers climbed up to his neck and his nails dug into the skin. His face turned an ice blue, and the crimson that spilled from his lips continued to flow after he fell onto his pillow. His eyes, once a light indigo, were now cracked and red. 

Natalya didn’t know when she started to hold her breath. She only knew when she exhaled. There was a certain kind of rudeness that came with breathing in front of a dead man. It was as if the last remnants of his soul would enter her and leave her possessed. 

“Little Brother?” Katyusha’s hand began to reach out to the man, but she hesitantly drew her it back to her chest. Her voice held the same pitch as a weary child’s. She repeated the action a few times before finally grabbing his limp wrist. 

Her scream rang in the ears of everyone present. 

At first, she was thankful for the abrupt howling. It covered up the silence that lingered in the air long before Ivan began coughing. Her own shaky breath left an echo. Tolys, Magnus, and Sadiq kept their distances from the foot of the bed. Natalya couldn’t find the motivation to scold Raivis for hurrying out of the room. 

The knight rattled in his corner. A heavy sob was muffled by his hands clasping his mouth. He whined, then wiped a falling tear from his eye. The woman’s chair landed on the ground when she rose from her seat and ran to him.

“Do not cry! You are a soldier! Soldiers don’t cry, you stupid fucking asshole!” Natalya couldn’t feel her fists pounding into Tolys’ back. She couldn’t hear her own screaming through the sound of her knuckles banging against his sculpted muscles. The cuts and bruises forming on her battered skin went unnoticed. Her poor joints only rested when an arm wrapped itself around her. Magnus tugged her into a deep hug, and in return she bit into his shoulder. He yelped from the unexpected sharpness, and threw her off of him.

“Do  _ not  _ touch me!” Her voice cracked in the middle of her words. Loose strands of hair stuck to her tear-stained cheeks. 

“Never lay a fucking hand on me again! I’ll kill you!” She came close to tripping over herself as she flung the bedroom door open and ran down the hall. Madness filled her vision and pushed her feet forward. Natalya found herself tripping down flights of stairs, pounding on stone walls, and growing cold from the wind that hit her, but she didn’t stop running until she blacked out.

* * *

“He is dead.”

The nights were cooler now. Trees rustled and lost their leaves with the wind’s hint of fall. The barn, to Magnus’ surprise, was much warmer than he expected. It wasn’t until the two men took their conversation outside when he felt the bite of the decaying season. 

“You look surprised.” Magnus slapped his gloved hand on Eduard’s back. “Don’t be. Men die every day.”

The servant shuffled through his cloak pocket. When he retrieved his hand, Magnus noticed the glimmer from the glass vials that bled through the gaps in his fingers. The warrior outstretched his hand and silently accepted the poison. Then, he filled the missing gap in Eduard’s palm with a gold coin.

“These were in Tolys’ room, under his bed,” Eduard explained. “I found them while I was cleaning. I don’t know why he was holding onto them, but they belong to you now.”

Magnus silently pocketed the vials. “I would like you to alert my men,” he stated almost immediately. “Say the king is dead, and that I will see them tomorrow for the funeral. Only tell Sigurd, Eirik, or Bj⌀rn, no one else, okay?”

He turned to take a step towards the castle, but stopped suddenly. His attention was drawn back to the servant.

“Also, I would like you to add this; ‘ _ Gå i ørerne _ ’.”

Eduard cocked a light-colored brow. “Go, ee, ouh...ray na? What does that mean?”

The butchering of the phrase made him cringe. “It is a saying we have. Consider it a chant of victory, if that makes sense.” 

The servant nodded with loose understanding. He said his goodbyes to the prince and practiced the saying. It tickled as it rolled off his tongue. 

Magnus caressed the glass that was now in his possession. He turned the corner of the barn, which was lit with a single candle. A shifting noise coming from inside stopped him in his path. Still high from his smooth exchange, Magnus peered around the corner of the building and glanced inside. Some distance away, on the far wall of the barn, Raivis kept his head low. He hummed to himself while drawing a line in the dirt below him, then began singing. His song was nasally and infected with hiccups.

_ “If I die, if I die, let my skin be my cloak. _

_ Let no friends mourn my loss, Lord, leave no need there to cope. _

_ They will sing, they will dance and they’ll live throughout their days. _

_ While poor little me, rolls in my little muddy grave.” _

* * *

Eduard ran. For the first time in many years, he felt as if he could see. Though the torch that lit his way to the pagan campsite was dim, and he tripped over rocks and his own feet, his visions of what lay ahead of him guided the way. Finally, he could be part of something. Finally, he could leave the kingdom and reclaim his life. That was the promise, and Eduard knew his firm grasp on hope would reward him in the end.

The fire that grew as he approached the campsite, diminished. Through the dying flames he observed a figure pouring water onto the hissing ashes. As he approached the site, Eduard could distinguish a familiar, chubby wanderer performing the act. Upon recognition, a smile grew on his face and he made his way to the other man.

“Hey, Timo!” the servant exclaimed, as he pulled the other into a careful hug, with the torch still in his hand. “Have you seen Bj⌀rn?”

“Hmm? Eduard, what are you doing here?” Timo whispered, retracting his body out of the hug.

“I’m here to deliver a message from Prince Magnus.” He grabbed the wanderer’s shoulders with much excitement. “Ivan is dead! I’m free, Timo!” 

“He’s actually dead?!”

His ostentatious behavior forced a nearby tent to stir. Sigurd crawled out from the wooden structure and rubbed his eyes. Upon realizing who woke him, he scowled and approached the duo.

“What is this shouting for?” he growled. “Some of us have had a long day.”

Eduard regained his composure. He smirked, and relayed the message he was given. “Ivan has passed. Prince Magnus wants you to attend the funeral tomorrow morning.”

“Hmm? Is that all my brother had to say?”

“Oh!” Eduard exclaimed again. His hands confidently rested on his hips. “He also says, ‘ _ Gå i ørerne _ ’!”

Timo’s hands clasped his cheeks. “He  _ what _ ?!”

Sigurd, however, sighed and leaned into his tent. He called for Bj⌀rn and Eirik, and growled something the servant couldn’t understand. 

The brother turned to face the two again. Stoically, he stated something in Norse, the only tangible word being, ‘Magnus’. 

Chills ran down Eduard’s spine. If he didn’t know any better, he would think it was the deceased Ivan’s thick fingers trailing down each bone. The foreigner beside him felt much smaller than he was. The only sound in the night came from his own nervous gulping and the crunching of fallen leaves under the others’ feet. Even if he followed his instinct and began to run, Bj⌀rn would have easily caught up with him. The broad man stretched when he left the tent, then roughly grabbed him by his forearms and held them behind his back, causing Eduard’s torch and small source of vision to fall to the ground. 

Timo’s persistent wailing fell on deaf ears. Eduard wanted to scream, but all that came out of his mouth were whimpers and frightened gasps. Bj⌀rn’s warm breath against the back of his neck didn’t aid in soothing him. The wanderer was barely visible in the darkness, and whenever it sounded like he was speaking directly to him, the sharp ringing of a blade danced over his voice. A dispute broke out at some point between the two brothers, followed by a battle with Sigurd’s and Timo’s sounds. He quietly prayed, but that left him with another conflict; he didn’t know if he wanted their voices to stop, or continue.

Someone lifted the torch. The roaring flames highlighted Sigurd’s shining cheeks and tired brows. Eirik stood close to his side, a look of apprehension glowing from him. The elder brother mumbled something to Timo, whose eyes flickered with chaos. 

“Eduard, they are going to cut your ears off.” His voice was surprisingly calm, though each word was enunciated between frantic breaths. It was as if he had to muster his remaining courage to prevent either of the men from falling apart. 

“Huh?!” The servant’s stomach sank.

“Eduard, listen to me. The Northmen do things very differently. They are all vowed to Magnus. That phrase you said, it means, ‘ _ Go for the ears _ ’.” 

“What are they going to do to me?” Eduard choked. His heart was ready to rip through his rib cage.

  
  


“They wear Magnus’ ring,” Timo replied, ignoring the question. “They  _ have  _ to follow his orders.”

The servant whimpered. He struggled to loosen Bj ø rn’s grip, but failed to even move the other’s arms. “What?! Can’t you get them to stop?”

Sigurd vocalized something to Timo, his tone monotonous. The sound of a bird above him replaced the scraping of metal. Eduard’s heated cheeks were briefly cooled by an autumnal breeze passing him.

“He says it won’t be too painful for you if you don’t struggle.”

Another statement left the brother’s mouth.

“He also says your pronunciation is sub-par,” Timo added. 

Eduard attempted to even his breathing. The torch grew closer to his face, and the faint vision his eyes allowed him showed two, almost identical blond men drawing dangerously close to his face. The one standing directly in front of him slowly raised the arm that held his knife.

The last thing Eduard saw was the blade’s glistening tip .

* * *

The funeral was held after breakfast. 

Natalya couldn’t bring herself to rise from her bed. Her memory of what happened after she saw Ivan’s fresh corpse faded from her mind. She awoke in her bedchamber at sunrise after passing out the night before with no recollection of how she got there. The air felt heavier than usual, and her husband’s presence wasn’t much help.

When she finally rose from her bed, she spotted Magnus leaning out the window. He was fixated on something wrapped around his finger. For a moment Natalya considered pushing him. She was sure his bones would be heard breaking from the high window.

“You are the queen of your own land now. How do you feel?” he asked without turning to face her.

“How do I  _ feel _ ? My brother’s fucking dead, you insensitive ass!” Rage boiled under her skin. It amazed her how all he had to do was open his mouth for her to justify murdering him. 

“But don’t you  _ want  _ the power?” Magnus flexed his fingers, keeping his gaze on the band of silver above his knuckle. “Don’t you crave independence, or freedom, or-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Natalya grabbed the hilt of the knife under her pillow and yanked Magnus by the front of his shirt. She pressed the sharpened blade against his Adam’s apple. 

The man held his arms up as a response. Though he chuckled, his eyes flashed in what she hoped was panic. 

“Your brother just died and you’re already trying to add to his funeral?” His voice cracked.

“Just wait until later!” Natalya couldn’t react in time to retrieve the words that slipped out of her. Her husband froze in place. His reply came in the form of a sudden low, ominous tone. 

“What am I waiting for?” 

It was too calm. His sudden coolness wrestled in her stomach. She had to force herself to look him in the eye, but instead of the playful glimmer his sea green eyes usually showed, she was met with a daunting stare.

“Don’t worry about it.” Natalya lowered the weapon and held it by her side. She tightened her grip on the handle, for she feared her quivering hand would let it slip to the ground. When Magnus moved to cup her face in his own hand, she turned her cheek.

“I will leave you to dress,” he said, giving his wife a brief smile. The man took one last look out the window before dropping his hand and, wordlessly, leaving the bedchamber. 

A moment passed before she dared to make a movement. When his footsteps ceased to echo from the other side of the door, she sharply inhaled. She gripped the knife with both of her hands and held it in front of her line of sight. Shaking, she tossed it onto the bed behind her and proceeded to dress herself. When her gown, the black garment that she now wore for the first time, brushed against her bare legs, she eyed the weapon once more. As if by reflex, Natalya yanked it and slipped it under one of her many layers. 

She approached the door, and prepared for her queendom.

* * *

They were able to see Ivan before the ceremony began. Natalya had to restrain herself from throwing her little body on him for a final, chilling embrace. She yearned for him to pull her into his arms like he used to do. Her shoulders felt bare. His face lost its mortifying blue shade. His fingernails were trimmed and groomed, and only a hint of bandaging was visible under his coat collar. She surprised herself with how keen her eyes were to notice the seemingly miniscule details of her brother’s corpse. One thing was missing from his casket, however.

“Where is his crown of flowers?” Natalya asked to no one in particular. Her monotonous tone echoed through the dining hall, where the ceremony would be held. The long tables had been removed, though one remained in the center of the room for the royal family to dine as they reminisced the late king. Ivan and his casket rested on a higher platform, where the family sat during special events. No one loved her brother as much as his sisters did, Natalya had decided. Therefore, she wasn’t going to allow common-folk to fake their sadness in the castle’s walls. 

“Hmm?” Katyusha replied. She stood between her sister and husband, who she linked arms with.

“He wanted a crown of flowers on his head when he passed. Where is it?”

“I don’t recall him saying that-”

“Make one for him. Now.” Her command ended with a low growl. Katyusha took her loose hand and gave it a caring squeeze, as well as a look of concern. Silently, she and Sadiq trailed out of the room. 

Tolys approached from an archway and took the couples’ place. He walked his fingertips up the woman’s arm, stopping at her shoulder to rest them there. When she remained motionless, his hand moved to her hair to push the loose strands behind her ear. She turned to face him. Numb, she looked the man up and down.

“You have a lot of balls to stand here and touch me,” she huffed.

No response. He forced a light cough, then sucked on his lips. Her hand moved to his neck, then down his arm. The limb inside the man’s sleeve was muscular and warm. It twitched when she grabbed it.

“You’re built differently than I thought. Have I ever told you that?”

“Do you like it?”

A light pink spread across her cheeks. His eyes kept wandering to the corpse. She watched as they rolled to Ivan, then her for a brief moment, and then to the floor. Natalya glanced around the room, and upon not finding a hidden figure or two, she broke the silence.

She stood on her toes to reach the knight. She kept her voice low and leaned towards him. “They are dying today, yes?”

Tolys’ eyes widened. He quickly blinked, then gave a single, sturdy nod.

“I knew I could trust you.” The woman gave a hint of a smile. She found her reflection in his eyes. His enlarged pupils made her mirrored self tremor.

“I  _ can  _ trust you, can’t I?” The fingers that still graced Tolys’ arm tightened their grip. His arm twitched under her touch.

“What if the plan falls apart?” the knight breathed. His shaking only grew with each passing second of silence. “What if someone intervenes, or-”

‘ _ Such a coward _ ,’ Natalya thought. She rolled her eyes. “Why are you suddenly scared? We will be fine. Two men will be dead by the end of the ceremony, and that is that.” 

She ghosted her lips over his heated cheek. His skin was damp, and his growing stubble scraped her nose. She retracted as soon as she tasted the growing, nervous sweat that drenched his face. He was, and always would be, filthy. 

“Leave me alone with my brother.” Natalya shoved Tolys in the chest, not waiting for him to retaliate. “We will meet again soon. Don’t fuck up.”

Once the knight could no longer be seen in the archway, the woman crouched beside Ivan’s casket. She gently ran her Tolys-tainted fingers down his cold cheek. 

“Big Brother, why did you have to die? You left me stuck with these idiots.” She sniffled, then let the tears she was holding in fall onto his clothed chest. As she mourned, her thoughts dwindled until her mind emptied into a lonely hush. She rested her head on the edge of his casket and laid with him until Katyusha called her for the ceremony to begin.

* * *

Though the sky hid itself behind masses of grey clouds, the little sunlight they received on that dreadful day was enough to illuminate the hall. 

They kept it simple. Without the townspeople taking part in a public mourning ceremony, the sisters and their husbands instead held a midday meal to commemorate the deceased king. The siblings were certain their brother would want a small gathering, for even he didn’t trust his citizens. No priest received an invitation, per Ivan’s request. Raivis the Fool was no longer needed, for the only person who enjoyed his company was gone. The hollow room held the four royals and Tolys, who stood from afar and watched them dine.

The meal began with wine. A member of the kitchen produced four goblets of a purplish wine and carefully set them in front of those seated. They performed a short prayer, hoping for Ivan’s soul to find peace in the afterlife, before toasting their cups and taking hefty sips of alcohol.

Natalya watched Magnus from the corner of her eye. He was seated beside her, while Katyusha and her husband sat across from the pair. She half-heartedly listened to their proclamations about her brother, how much they would miss him, and how wonderful of a man and king he was. 

Magnus placed his hand palm-down onto the table’s surface. The wedding finger on his ring glistened in the little bit of light that shone through the windows. It was in that moment Natalya became aware of the ring on her own finger. By the end of the day she could remove it from her body and shove it somewhere far away from her. Perhaps she would throw it into a river, or melt it in a fire, or make Tolys swallow it during his execution if her plan was successful.

The Northman caught her staring at his hand. He flexed it once, then twice, and then stopped when her gaze met his. There was satisfaction in knowing what he did not. The poison would activate at any moment, and she wanted to watch the life leave his eyes when it did.

A cough came from across the table. Neither she nor Magnus looked to the source of it, instead maintaining their eye contact with each other. It was masculine, definitely belonging to Sadiq. His hacking was followed by the sound of his fists pounding something soft. Her sister yelped and repeatedly screamed his name, each time becoming more and more desperate. Magnus took another sip from his chalice, and for a moment the woman thought he winked at her. An uneasiness fell upon her as his smile curled.

No, it peeled. He was a bad apple, and his skin was rejecting itself.

Then, another cough erupted. This one was more feminine, and Natalya spotted Katyusha from the corner of her eye. Her hands flung to her throat as the table below them shook. Natalya threw her seat back and threw herself over the surface. She collapsed on top of her sister, who now struggled for air on the castle floor. She found there was nothing she could do to help her poor kin, except hold her head in her lap as she silently begged for air. She thought she saw Katyusha’s lips move to form some frantic phrase. It was almost laughable; Katyusha’s dying glory reminded Natalya a lot of Ivan’s blue-faced death.

Wait.

“Poison,” she breathed. 

The room transformed into a blur of colors and noise. Before Natalya could rise to her feet, she reached for the knife strapped to her thigh, but found her fingers to shake too violently to wrap around the hilt. Her slender hand was eventually able to grab it, and perhaps that was what gave her the courage to stand, face Magnus, and point it at her own neck. The blade hovered in front of her pale skin. The handle melted into her sweaty fingers. Her husband displayed his empty hands next to his face, a snarl appearing on his features.

The man jumped onto the table, shaking the wood as he did so. His thick hands crushed her wrists. She yelled in pain as he swiftly forced the weapon away from her neck. The pressure from his grip was too much for her petite body to handle, and the knife slipped from her palm and onto her sister’s body. From the corner of her eye came the familiar, chestnut-haired soldier.

“Tolys!” Natalya felt herself screaming his name, though she wasn’t sure why. Was he the devil dressed as a cowardly knight? Or, was he now her only source of hope? Her ears rang from the sound of foreboding footsteps bouncing around the hall. Her breath richoched through her ribcage. 

“Natalya!” The knight was weaponless, and nude of armor, yet his fists were prepared to attack the Northman. He slammed a heavy foot onto the table and hurriedly pushed himself onto its surface to grab at Magnus from behind. From the crevice of an adjacent archway came two, heavily armored men. They almost tripped over themselves as their footsteps pounded along the stone floor and to the vacant area behind Tolys. 

Magnus elbowed Tolys in the face and slammed his head down with his elbow, causing him to slip and fall onto his back. As he attempted to jump back onto his feet, the unexpected fall gave one of Magnus’ men the opportunity to pull him back down and dig his sword through the unsuspecting knight’s chest. Crimson poured from Tolys’ mouth. He glanced down in surprise, stumbled forward, and reached out to her with what little energy he had left.

“I...Nat, I lo…” He gasped, then fell to his knees before collapsing into the pool of blood forming at Magnus’ feet. Her final memory of him included his bulging eyes and the haunting realization that painted his face. 

The dining hall was still. If she could focus on her surroundings, she would feel the spirits of the three guests leaving their earthly bodies. Two Northmen - blond and almost identical in the face - withdrew their weapons and began tearing apart the gold-laced furniture of the room. She was all too aware of the corpses surrounding her, so she tried to keep her gaze forward. Looking at Magnus, however, was unbearable. His fingers were still laced around her wrists, but she could no longer feel the pain they caused.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked. Her voice was uneven, and she was sure he could hear the whimper that came from her throat. 

“Your knight is an idiot who poisoned your brother and then tried hiding his supply in his bedroom. Your equally stupid servant found it for us, but you don’t have to worry about him; he’s taken care of. You should have paid your kitchen-staff more; all I had to do was offer them sacks of gold to tell me who uses which goblet.” 

Natalya wanted to cry. She wanted to mourn and shout, but who would come to rescue her? Her vision became a tunnel, and before she knew it, the hall turned into a black void. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! It's the chapter you've all been waiting for! Were you expecting that twist? It's a secret I've been keeping for what, 5, 6 months? I apologize if this chapter feels rushed. I had the bare-bones of it written months back, but I had to change details in the ending scene a few times before settling on this execution. There is one more chapter left, so hang tight!
> 
> Have a nice day!


	9. Epilogue

The stars were shrouded by the forceful mask of smoke.

It had been three days since Feliks last saw the sky. Fear kept him awake at night, and he was left waiting for the sunrise that never came. Even the sun in all of its glory could not pass through the grey haze that stretched across the kingdom.

Feliks remained hidden underneath his floorboards for a full day. He heard the crack of footsteps echo throughout the church, followed by the thunder of falling furniture and bellowing laughter. All he could do was press his palms together and pray for the storm above him to rest. 

He didn’t leave the basement until he was certain there was no one upstairs who could hear his whispered recitations. With shaking fingers, he lifted the trap door that lay underneath the wooden table in the middle of the room. He didn’t have to crawl out from his hiding spot like he thought he would have to, however, for the table that should have halted the door’s opening was overturned and kneeling beside it.

What wasn’t strewn around the room, wasn’t visible. The shelves lining his walls were stripped of their glimmering, golden crosses. Incense burners, candle holders, chalices, and even the offering dish that resided on his altar were missing. He couldn’t make himself stand; he knew he would collapse. Instead, he crawled around the space as he surveyed the damage the intruders had caused. Feliks stopped, however, when his hands were suddenly pricked by shattered glass. It was in that moment when he noticed the exceptional amount of sunlight streaming through the church.

The stain-glass window, with all of its hues and holiness, crunched underneath him. It was completely shattered, and the light bouncing off of the shards that now decorated the room created a distorted rainbow of its own.

For the first time in his life, his mind was blank. He was truly thoughtless, for not even prayers filled his constantly active imagination. The silence was lonely. He eventually rose to his feet and dragged himself outside. The aroma of a distant fire caked his lungs, though the flames inside of him were no longer present. Feliks mindlessly made the sign of the cross over his chest. Then, he kept his tinged eyes on the decaying skyline while he waited for Tolys. 

The city’s bells that called for service were the only signs of time passing. Despite the tragedy that unfolded, someone still felt it was their calling to ring it during that time of passion. Feliks remained in the woods, away from the survivors. 

With every day that slipped by him, Feliks’ concern grew. On the first day, he assumed his friend was bravely defending their city from the Norsemen who wanted their heads. When the second day came, he watched the gaps between the trees for a sign of the horse that the knight always rode. After three days, he became accustomed to the deafening silence that fell upon the forest. A frozen breeze crossed his cheeks, bringing him back to life. He suddenly became aware of the missing birds that should have been flying above him. There was a lack of rustling in the woods, and the bells that hypnotized him held a weaker pitch than the ones that played earlier in the week. Feliks didn’t feel himself fall to his knees, nor did he acknowledge the dirt that rubbed into his robes. His tears stained his reddening features, and a high-pitched whine erupted from his cracked lips. He cried until his throat closed, and all that could emit were choked sobs.

A light snow began to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end! Thank you so much for reading He Who Carves the Stars! I can't show my gratitude enough through a screen, but I can give you some information about this fanfic.
> 
> 1\. This originally started out as a Shakespeare inspired story. It was influenced by King Lear, which is a play that involves a sick elderly man who is exploited by his daughters. The more I plotted however, the more I drifted away from this idea. If you look closely, you can see in the first 1 or 2 chapters that I added couplets and iambic pentameters in some pieces of dialogue to replicate Shakespeare. The original plan was to write the entire story that way, however I didn't expect it to end up being this long lmao. There was so much more i wanted to add to the fic, but towards the last few chapters I just wanted to be done with it (not that I didn't want to write it, just that I've spent months working on it).
> 
> 2\. I left this story off with a cliff hanger. I have plans for a sequel, however I'm not sure if/when that will come. I am a full time (creative writing) student, so my writing as of late has been more for myself and my classes than it has been for any fandom. If you want to stay updated on my fandom WIPs, feel free to check out my tumblr (abyssfics) .
> 
> Once again I cannot thank you all enough for sticking by this story and reading it in its entirety. I hope I didn't break your hearts lmao

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first attempt at writing a longer, multiple POV fic. It's also my first time writing a medieval au, which I'm very excited about. I'm posting the first few chapters within the next week or so as a test run. The M rating will make sense in the future. Please be sure to read the notes in the beginning as I post chapters, because more characters will be added, and they don't go by fandom names.
> 
> Also, I should probably mention that Eduard's eyes are foggy because he has cataracts. I wanted to incorporate his poor eyesight into the story since I think it's crucial to his character, but since glasses weren't invented until the 1700's (?), I figured I could get creative with it.
> 
> Happy reading! :)


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